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Stoppage, began to float away from the shore, and the increasing thickness of the 


fog assured them that they were taking the right course. — Page 340. 






THE 


1 


WOOD-RANGEES 



By CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. 

M 

AUTHOR OP THE “ SCALP HUNTERS,” — THE RIFLE RANGERS,” — “ THE TIGER 
HUNTER,” — “ THE WAR TRAIL,” — “ THE HUNTER’S FEAST,” — “ THE 
WHITE CHIEF,” — THE QUADROON,” — “ THE WILD HUNTRESS,” — 
“WILD LIFE,”— “ THE MAROON,”— “ THE HEADLESS HORSE- 
MAN,” — “ THE WHITE GAUNTLET.” 

ETC. ETC. ETC. 



NEW YORK: 

Carletotiy Publisher, Madison Square . 

LONDON : S. LOW, SON & CO. 

M DCCC LXXTI. 


V# I 





2mtbrbp according to Act of Congress, m the year ittl, 9* 

ROBERT M. DE WITT 

to toe Clerk • Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Xew 7<A 


• j 

Eycha nge 

♦IWWy of Supreme Council AAJSk& 

Mf 1340 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER L nn 

Pep6, the Sleeper, 9 

CHAPTER II. 

The Sentinel of La Ensenada, 16 

CHAPTER m. 

The Alcalde and his Clerk, 26 

CHAPTER IT. 

The Foisaken Chamber, 84 

CHAPTER Y. 

Pepe’s Revanche, 42 

CHAPTER YI. 

Sonora, 47 

CHAPTER VII. 

Two Honest Gentlemen, 66 

CHAPTER VTII. 

The Senator Tragaduros, 68 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Compact, 67 

CHAPTER X. 

An Afternoon Ride, 75 

CHAPTER XI. 

An Unfortunate Traveller, 80 

CHAPTER XII. 

Tiburcio Arellanos, 84 


CONTENTS, 


vi 

PAOH 

CHAPTER HE 

A Stumbling Horse, 89 

CHAPTER XIV. 

La Poza, 9fl 

CHAPTER XV. 

Nocturnal Visitors, 99 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Tiger Hunters, ; 107 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Unexpected Recognitions, 115 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Hacienda del Venado, 125 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Rosarita, 136 

y 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Assignation, 143 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Duke de Armada, 148 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The New Kingdom, 156 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Quarrelsome Gamesters, 162 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Tiburcio in Danger, 167 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Love Through the Window, 175 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

An Abrupt Departure, 188 


CONTENTS. Vii 

PAQl 

CHAPTER XXYII. 

The Lone Fire in the Forest, 196 

CHAPTER XXYIII. 

The Wood-Rangers, . 202 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Old Souvenirs, 207 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Bois-Rose and Fabian, 214 

V ' ■ v 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The Recognition, 224 

CHAPTER XXXIL 

Souvenirs of Elanchovi, 230 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The Man in the Yellow Jacket, 237 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

The Blood of the Medianas, 242 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

A Bird’s Eye Yiew of the Desert, 247 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The Alarm, 261 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The Attack, 267 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

After the Fight, 280 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

The Islet, 286 

CHAPTER XL. 

An Indian Diplomat, 297 


Vlll 


CONTENTS, 


PAG* 

CHAPTER XLI. 

Indian Cunning, 306 

CHAPTER XLII. 

The Blackbird, 316 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

A Feat of Herculean Strength, 826 

CHAPTER XLIY. 

The Floating Islet, 837 

CHAPTER XLY. 

The Finger of God, 344 

Q 

CHAPTER XLYI. 

The Golden Yalley, 362 

CHAPTER XLYII. 

The Punishment of Tantalus, 862 

CHAPTER XLYIII. 

The King-Maker a Captive, 368 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

The Two Medianas Face to Face, 375 

CHAPTER L. 

Lynch Law, 883 

CHAPTER LI. 

The Judgment of God, 401 

CHAPTER LII. 

The Man of the Red Kerchief, « 417 

CHAPTER LIII. 

The Stranger’s Story, 427 

CHAPTER LIY. 

The Return, 446 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PEPB ,<Q> HE SLEEPER. 

No landscape on the Biscayan coast, presents a more 
imposing and picturesque aspect than the little village of 
Elanchovi. Lying within an amphitheatre of cliffs, whose 
crests rise above the roofs of the houses, the port is pro- 
tected from the surge of the sea by a handsome little jetty 
of chiselled stone ; while the single street of which the vil- 
lage is composed, commencing at the inner end of the mole, 
sweeps boldly up against the face of the precipice. On both 
sides, the houses, disposed in a sort of echelon , rise, terrace- 
like, one above the other; so that viewed from a distance, 
the street presents the appearance of a gigantic stairway. 

In these, the common dwellings, there is not much variety 
of architecture ; since the village is almost exclusively inha- 
bited by poor fisherman. There is one building, however, 
that is conspicuous — so much so as to form the principal 
feature of the landscape. It is an old chateau — perhaps the 
only building of this character in Spain — whose slate roofs 
and gothic turrets and vanes, rising above the highest point 
of the cliffs, overlook the houses of the village. 

This mansion belonged to the noble family of Mediana, 

o 


10 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


and formed part of the grand estates of this ancient house, 
For a long period, the Counts of Mediana had not inhabited 
the chateau of Elanchovi, and it had fallen into a state of 
neglect and partial decay, presenting a somewhat wild and 
desolate aspect. However, at the beginning of the year 
1808, during the troubles of the French invasion, the Count 
Don Juan, then head of the family, had chosen it as a safe 
residence for his young wife Dona Luisa, whom he passion- 
ately loved. 

Here Don Juan passed the first months of his married life 
— a marriage celebrated under circumstances of sad augury. 
The younger brother of Don Juan, Don Antonio de Mediana, 
had also fervently loved the Dona Luisa ; until finding her 
preference for his brother, he had given up his suit in anger, 
and quitted the country. He had gone, no one. knew 
whither ; and though after a time there came back a rumour 
of his death, it was neither confirmed nor contradicted. 

The principal reason why the Count had chosen this wild 
spot as a residence for his lady was this : — He held a high 
command in the Spanish army, and he knew that duty would 
soon call him into the field. The alcalde of Elanchovi had 
been an old servant of the Mediana family, and had been 
raised to his present rank by their influence. Don Juan, 
therefore, believed he could rely upon the devotion of this 
functionary to the interests of his house, and that during his 
absence Dona Luisa would find security under the magis- 
terial protection. Don Ramon Cohecho was the name of the 
chief magistrate of Elanchovi. 

The Count was not permitted long to enjoy the happiness 
of his married life. Just as he had anticipated, he soon 
received orders to join his regiment ; and parted from the 
chateau, leaving his young wife under the special care of an 
old and respectable domestic — the steward Juan de Dios 
Canelo. He parted from his home never more to return to 


PEPli, THE SLEEPER. 


11 


it ; for in the battle of Burgos, a French bullet suddenly ter- 
minated his existence. 

It was sad tidings for the Dona Luisa; and thus to the joys 
of the first days of her married life succeeded the sorrows of 
a premature widowhood. 

It was near the close of the year 1808 , when the chateau 
was the sombre witness of Don i Luisa’s grief, that our story 
commences, and though its scene lies in another land — thou- 
sands of leagues from the Biscayan coast — its history is inti- 
mately woven with that of the chateau of Elanchovi. 

Under ordinary circumstances, the village of Elanchovi pre- 
sents a severe and dreary aspect. The silence and solitude 
that reigns along the summit of the cliffs, contrasted with 
the continuous roaring of the breakers against their base, 
inspires the beholder with a sentiment of melancholy. More- 
over, the villagers, as already said, being almost exclusively 
fishermen, and absent during the whole of the day, the place 
at first sight would appear as if uninhabited. Occasionally 
when some cloud is to be observed in the sky, the wives of 
the fishermen may be seen at the door, in their skirts of 
bright colours, and their hair in long double plaits hanging 
below their waists. These after remaining a while to cast 
anxious glances upon the far horizon, again recross the thresh- 
olds of their cottages, leaving the street deserted as before. 

At the time of which we are writing — the month of 
November, 1808 — Elanchovi presented a still more desolate 
aspect than was its wont. The proximity of the French 
army had produced a panic among its inhabitants ; and many 
of these poor people— forgetting in their terror that they 
had nothing to lose— had taken to their boats, and sought 
safety in places more distant from the invaders of whom they 
were in dread. 

Isolated as this little village was on the Biscayan coasts, 
there was all the more reason why it should have its garrison 


12 


THE WOOD-RANGEKS. 


of coast-guards ; and such in reality it had. These at the 
time consisted of a company of soldiers — carabiuiers, under 
the command of a captain Don Lucas Despierto — but the 
condition of these warriors was not one to be envied, for the 
Spanish government, although nominally keeping them in its 
pay, had for a long time neglected to pay them. The conse* 
quence was, that these poor fellows had absolutely nothing 
upon which to live. The seizure of smuggled goods — with 
which they might have contrived to indemnify themselves — 
was no longer possible. The contraband trade, under this 
system, was completely annihilated. The smugglers knew 
better than to come in contact with coast-guards whose per- 
formance of their duty was stimulated by such a keen neces- 
sity ! From the captain himself down to the lowest official, 
an incessant vigilance was kept up — the result of which was 
that the fiscal department of the Spanish government was, 
perhaps, never so faithfully or economically served. 

There was one of these coast-guards who affected a com- 
plete skepticism in regard to smuggling — he even went so far 
as to deny that it had ever existed ! He was distinguished 
among his companions by a singular habit — that of always 
going to sleep upon his post; and this habit, whether feigned 
or real, had won for him the name of the Sleeper. On this 
account it may be supposed, that he was never placed upon 
guard where the post was one of importance. 

Jose, or as he was more familiarly styled, Pepe, was a young 
fellow of some twenty-five years — tall, thin, and muscular. 
His black eyes, deeply set under bushy eyebrows, had all the 
appearance of eyes that could sparkle ; besides, his whole 
countenance possessed the configuration of one who had been 
born for a life of activity. On the contrary, however — 
whether from a malady or some other cause — the man 
appeared as somnolent and immobile as if both his visage and 
body were carved out of marble. In a word, with all the 


FETE, THE SLEEPER. 


13 


exterior marks that denote the possession of an active and 
ardent soul, Pepe the Sleeper appeared the most inactive and 
apathetic of men. 

His chagrin was great— or appeared to be so — when, upon 
the evening of the day in which this narrative commences, 
the captain of the coast-guard sent a messenger to summon 
him to head-quarters. 

On receiving the unexpected order, Pepe rose from hi a 
habitual attitude of recumbence, stretched himself at liia 
leisure, yawned several times, and then obeyed the summons, 
saying as he went out : “ What the devil fancy has the cap- 
tain got into his head to send for me 

Once, however, on the way and alone, it might have been 
observed that the somnolent coast-guard walked with an 
energetic and active step, very unlike his usual gait ! 

On entering the apartment where the captain awaited him, 
his apathetic habit returned ; and, while rolling a cigarette 
between his fingers, he appeared to be half asleep. The cap- 
tain was buried in a profound meditation, and did not at first 
perceive him. 

“ Bueno / my captain,” said the coast-guard, respectfully 
saluting his superior, and calling attention to his presence* 
“ I am here.” 

“ Ah ! good ! my fine fellow,” began the captain, in a win- 
ning voice. “Well, Pepe!” added he more slowly and signifi- 
cantly, “the times are pretty hard with us — are they not?” 

“ Rather hard, captain.” 

“ But you, hombre /” rejoined Don Lucas, with a laugh, 
“ you don’t appear to suffer much of the misery — you are 
always asleep I understand ?” 

“ When I sleep, captain, I am not hungry,” replied the 
coast-guard, endeavouring to stifle a yawn; “then I dream 
that the government has paid me.” 

“ Well — at all events you are not its creditor for manj 


14 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


hours of the day, since you sleep most of them. But, my 
fine fellow, it is not about this I desire to talk to you. I wish 
to give you a proof of my confidence.” 

“ Ah !” muttered Pepe. 

“ And a proof of my regard for you,” continued the officer. 
•* The government has its eye open upon all of us ; your 
reputation for apathy begins to be talked about, and you 
might be discharged one of these days as a useless official. 
It would be a sad affair if you were to lose your place ?” 

“ Frightful ! captain,” replied Pepe, with perfect simplicity 
of manner ; “ for if I can scarce keep from dying of hunger 
in my place, what would be the result were I deprived of it ? 
Frightful !” 

“ To prevent this misfortune, then,” continued the captain, 
“ I have resolved to furnish to those who calumniate you, a 
proof of the confidence which may be placed in you, by giv- 
ing you the post of Ensenada — and this very night.” 

Pepe involuntarily opened his eyes to their fullest extent. 

44 That surprises you ?” said Don Lucas. 

44 No,” laconically replied the coast-guard. 

The captain was unable to conceal from his inferior a slight 
confusion, and his voice trembled as he pronounced the inter- 
rogation : — 

“ What ! It does not surprise you ?” 

“ No,” repeated Pepe, and then added in a tone of flattery . 
“The captain Despierto is so well known for his vigilance 
and energy, that he may confide the most important post to 
the very poorest of his sentinels. That is why I am not 
astonished at the confidence he is good enough to place in 
me : and now I await the instructions your Honour may be 
pleased to give.” 

Don Lucas, without further parley, proceeded to instruct 
his sentinel in his duty for the night. The orders were some- 
what diffuse — so much so that Pepe had a difficulty in com 


PEPE, THE SLEEPER. 


Jtf 

prehending them — but they were wound up by the captain 
saying to the coast-guard, as he dismissed him from his 
presence — 

“ And above all, my fine fellow, don't go to sleep upon 
your post /” 

“I shall try not to do so, captain,” replied Pepe, at the 
same time saluting his superior, and taking his leave. 

“This fellow is worth his weight in gold,” muttered Don 
Lucas, rubbing his hands together with an air of satisfaction ; 
“ ho could not have suited my purpose better, if he had been 
expressly made for it !” 


16 


THE WOOD-RANGEKS. 


CHAPTER n. 

THE SENTINEL OF LA ENSENADA. 

The little bay of Ensenada, thus confided to the vigi ance 
of Pepe the Sleeper, was mysteriously shut in among the 
cliffs, as if nature had designed it expressly for smugglers — 
especially those Spanish contrabandistas who carry on the 
trade with a cutlass in one hand and a carbine in the other. 

On account of its isolation, the post was not without danger, 
especially on a foggy November night, when the thick 
vapour supended in the air not only rendered the sight use- 
less, but hindered the voice that might call for assistance 
from being heard to any distance. 

In the soldier who arrived upon this post, advancing with 
head erect and light elastic tread, no one could have recog- 
nized Pepe the Sleeper — Pepe, habitually plunged in a pro- 
found state of somnolence — Pepe, of downcast mien and slow 
dragging gait — and yet it was he. His eyes, habitually half 
shut, were now sparkling in their sockets, as if even the 
slightest object could not escape him even in the darkness. 

After having carefully examined the ground around his 
post, and convinced himself that he was entirely alone, he 
placed his lantern in such a position that its light was thrown 
along the road leading to the village. Then advancing some 
ten or twelve paces in the direction of the water, he spread 
his cloak upon the ground, and lay down upon it — in such an 
attitude that he could command a view both of the road and 
the bay. 


THE SENTINEL OF LA ENSENADA. 


17 


“Ah, my captain!” soliloquized the coast-guard, as he 
arranged his cloak around him to the best advantage, “ you 
are a very cunning man, but you have too much faith in peo- 
ple who are always asleep ; and devil take me ! if I don’t 
believe that you are interested in my sleeping most soundly 
on this particular night. Well, quien sale f we shall see.” 

For about the period of half an hour Pepe remained alone 
— delivering himself up to his reflections, and in turns inter- 
rogating with his glance the road and the bay. At the end 
of that time a footstep was heard in the loose sand ; and look- 
ing along the pathway, the sentinel perceived a dark form 
approaching the spot. In another moment the form came 
under the light of the lantern, and was easily recognized as 
that of Don Lucas, the captain of the coast-guard. 

The officer appeared to be searching for something, but 
presently perceiving the recumbent sentinel, he paused in 
his steps. 

“ Pepe i” cried he, in a low mincing voice. 

No reply came from Pepe. 

“ Pepe !” repeated the captain, in a tone a little more ele- 
vated. 

Still no reply from the sentinel, who remained obstinately 
silent. 

The captain, appearing to be satisfied, ceased calling tho 
name, and shortly after retraced his steps towards the vil- 
lage. In a few seconds his form was lost in the distance. 

“ Good !” said Pepe, as his superior officer passed out of 
sight ; “just as I expected. A moment ago I was fool 
enough to doubt it. Now I am sure of it. Some smuggler 
is going to risk it to-night. Well, I shall manage badly if I 
don’t come in for a windfall — though it be at the expense of 
my captain.” 

Saying this, the sentinel with one bound rose erect upoa 
his feet. 


18 


THE WOOD-HANGERS. 


“Here I am no more Pepe the Sleeper,” continued h(^ 
stretching himself to his full height. 

From this time his eyes were bent continually upon the 
ocean; but another half hour passed without anything 
strange showing itself upon the bosom of the water — noth- 
ing to break the white line of the horizon where sea and 
sky appeared to be almost confounded together. Some dark 
clouds were floating in the heavens, now veiling and now 
suddenly uncovering the moon, that had just risen. The 
effect was fine ; the horizon was one moment shining like 
silver, and the next dark as funeral crape ; but through all 
these changes no object appeared upon the water, to denote 
the presence of a human being. 

For a long while the coast-guard looked so intently 
through the darkness, that he began to see the sparks flying 
before his eyes. Fatigued with this sustained attention, 
he at length shut his eyes altogether, and concentrated all 
his powers upon the organs of hearing. Just then a sound 
came sweeping over the water — so slight that it scarce 
reached him — but the next moment the land-breeze carried 
it away, and it was heard no more. 

Fancying it had only been an illusion, he once more 
opened his eyes, but in the obscurity he could see nothing. 
Again he shut them closely and listened as before. This 
time he listened with more success. A sound regularly 
cadenced was heard. It was such as would be made by a 
pair of oars cautiously dipped, and was accompanied by a 
dull knocking as of the oars working in their thole-pins. 

u At last we shall see 1” muttered Pepe, with a gasp of 
satisfaction. 

A small black point, almost imperceptible, appeared upon 
the horizon. Rapidly it increased in size, until it assumed 
the form and dimensions of a boat with rowers in it, followed 
by a bright strip of foam. 


THE SENTINEL OP LA ENSENAI A. 


19 


Pepe threw himself suddenly d plat ventre , in fear that he 
might be seen by those on the water ; bat from the elevated 
position which he occupied, he was able to keep his eye upon 
the boat without losing sight of it for a single instant. 

Just then the noises ceased, and the oars were held out of 
water, motionless, like some sea-bird, with wings extended, 
choosing a spot upon which to alight. In the next instant 
the rowing was resumed, and the boat headed directly for 
the shore of the bay. 

“ Don’t be afraid !” muttered the coast-guard, affecting to 
apostrophise the rowers. “ Don’t be afraid, my good fellows 
—come along at your pleasure !” 

The rowers, in truth did not appear to be at all apprehen- 
sive of danger ; and the next moment the keel of the boat 
was heard grinding upon the sand of the beach. 

“ For Dios /” muttered the sentinel in a low voice ; “ not 
a bale of goods ! It is possible after all, they are not smug- 
glers !” 

Three men were in the boat, who did not appear to take 
those precautions which smugglers would have done. They 
made no particular noise, but, on the other hand, they did 
not observe any exact silence. Moreover their costume was 
not that ordinarily worn by the regular contrabandista. 

“Who the devil can they be?” asked Pepe of himself. 

The coast-guard lay concealed behind some tufts of 
withered grass that formed a border along the crest of the 
slope. Through these he could observe the movements of 
the three men in the boat. 

At an order from the one who sat in the stern sheets, the 
other two leaped ashore, as if with the design of recon- 
noitering the ground. He who issued the order, and who 
appeared to be the chief of the party, remained seated in 
the boat. 

Pepe was for a moment undecided whether he should per. 


20 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


mit the two to pass him on the road ; but the vie iv of th« 
boat, left in charge of a single man, soon fixed his resolu- 
tion. 

He kept his place, therefore, motionless as ever, scarce 
allowing himself to breathe, until the two men arrived 
below him, and only a few feet from the spot where he was 

lying- 

Each was armed with a long Catalonian knife, and Pepe 
could see that the costume which both wore was that of the 
Spanish privateers of the time — a sort of mixture of the uni- 
form of the royal navy of Spain, and that of the merchant 
service ; but he could not see their faces, hid as they were 
under the slouched Basque bonnet. 

All at once the two men halted. A piece of rock, detached 
by the knees of the coast-guard, had glided down the slope 
and fallen near their feet. 

“ Did you hear anything ?” hastily asked one. 

Eo; did you?” 

“ I thought I heard something falling from above there,” 
replied the first speaker ; pointing upward to the spot where 
Pep6 was concealed. 

“ Bah ! it was some mouse running into its hole.” 

“ If this slope wasn’t so infernally steep, I’d climb up and 
see,” said the first. 

“ I tell you we have nothing to fear,” rejoined the second ; 
“ the night is as black as a pot of pitch, and besides — the 
other , hasn’t he assured us that he will answer for the man on 
guard, who sleeps all day long ?” 

“ Just for that reason he may not sleep at night. Remain 
here, I’ll go round and climb up. Carramba ! if I find this 
sleepy head,” he added, holding out his long knife, the blade 
of which glittered through the darkness, “ so much the 
worse — or, perhaps, so much the better for him — for I shall 
send him where he may sleep for ever.” 


THE SENTINEL OF LA ENSENADA. 


21 


*• Mil diablos /” thought Pepe, “ this fellow is a philoso- 
pher ! By the holy virgin I am long enough here.” 

And at this thought* he crept out of the folds of his cloak 
like a snake out of his skin, and leaving the garment where 
it lay, crawled rapidly away from the spot. 

Until he had got to a considerable distance, he was so 
cautious not to make any noise, that, to use a Spanish expres- 
sion, the very ground itself did not Jcnow he was passing over 
it. 

In this way he advanced, carbine in hand, until he was 
opposite the point where the boat rested against the beach. 
There he stopped to recover his breath — at the same time 
fixing his eye upon the individual that was alone. 

The latter appeared to be buried in a sombre reverie, 
motionless as a statue, and wrapped in an ample cloak, which 
served both to conceal his person and protect him from the 
humidity of the atmosphere. His eyes were turned toward 
the sea ; and for this reason he did not perceive the dark 
form of the carabinier approaching in the opposite direction. 

The latter advanced with stealthy tread — measuring the 
distance with his eye — until at length he stood within a few 
paces of the boat. 

Just then the stranger made a movement as if to turn his 
face towards the shore, when Pepe, like a tiger bounding* 
upon its prey, launched himself forward to the side of the 
boat. 

“ It is I !” he exclaimed, bringing the muzzle of his car- 
bine on a level with the man’s breast. “ Don’t move or you 
are a dead man 1” 

“ You, who ?” asked the astonished stranger, his eye r 
sparkling with rage, and not even lowering their g 1 
before the threatening attitude of his enemy. 

“ Why me ! Pepe — you know well enough ? Pepe, the 
Sleeper ?” 


22 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Curses upon him, if he has betrayed me !” muttered the 
stranger, as if speaking to himself. 

“If you are speaking of Don Lucas Despierto,” inter* 
rupted the carabinier, “ I can assure you he is incapable of 
such a thing ; and if I am here it is because that he has been 
only too discreet, senor smuggler.” 

“ Smuggler !” exclaimed the unknown, in a tone of proud 
disdain. 

“ When I say smuggler,” replied Pepe, chuckling at his 
own perspicuity, “ it is only meant as a compliment, for you 
haven’t an ounce of merchandise in your boat, unless indeed,” 
continued he, pointing with his foot to a rope ladder, rolled 
up, and lying in the bottom, “ unless that may be a sample ! 
Santa Virgen / a strange sample that 1” 

Face to face with the unknown, the coast-guard could now 
examine him at his leisure. 

He was a young man of about Pepe’s own age, twenty-five. 
His complexion had the hale tint of one who followed the sea 
for a profession. Thick dark eyebrows were strongly deli- 
neated against a forehead bony and broad, and from a pair 
of large black eyes shone a sombre fire that denoted a man 
of implacable passions. His arched mouth was expressive of 
high disdain; and the wrinkles upon his cheeks, strongly 
marked notwithstanding his youth, at the slightest move- 
ment, gave to his countenance an expression of arrogance 
and scorn. In his eyes — in his whole bearing — you could 
read that ambition or vengeance were the ruling passions of 
his soul. His fine black curling hair alone tempered the 
expression of severity that distinguished his physiognomy. 
With regard to his costume, it was simply that of an officer 
of the Spanish navy. 

A look that would have frightened most men, told the 
impatience with which he endured the examination of the 
coast-guard. 


THE SENTINEL OP LA ENSENADA. 


23 


“ An end to this pleasantry !” he cried out, at length. 
“ What do you want, fellow ? Speak !” 

“ Ah ! talk of our affairs,” answered Pepe, “ that is just 
what I desire. W ell, in the first place, when those two fel- 
lows of yours return with my cloak and lantern — which they 
are cunning enough to make a seizure of — you will give them 
your commands to keep at a distance. In this way we can 
talk without being interrupted. Otherwise, with a single 
shot of this carbine, which will stretch you out dead, I shall 
also give the alarm. What say you? Nothing? Be it so. 
That answer will do for want of a better. I go on. You 
have given to my captain forty onzas f continued the cara- 
binier, with a bold guess, making sure that he named 
enough. 

“ Twenty,” replied the stranger, without reflecting. 

“ I would rather it had been forty,” said Pepe. “Well, 
one does not pay so high for the mere pleasure of a sentimen- 
tal promenade along the shore of the Ensenada. My inter- 
vention need be no obstruction to it — provided you pay for 
my neutrality.” 

“ How ?” asked the unknown, evidently desirous of put- 
ting an end to the scene. 

“Oh, a mere bagatelle — you have given the captain forty 
onzas.” 

“ Twenty, I tell you.” 

“ I would rather it had been forty,” coolly repeated the 
carabinier, “but say twenty, then. Now I don’t wish to be 
indiscreet — he is a captain, I am nothing more than a poor 
private. I think it reasonable therefore, that I should have 
double what he has received.” 

At this extortionate demand the stranger allowed a bitter 
oath to escape him, but made no answer. 

“ I know well,” continued Pepe, “ that I am asking too lit- 
tle. If my captain has three times my pay, of course he ha* 


24 


THE WOOD-EANGEES. 


three times less need of money than I, and therefore I 
have the right to triple the sum he has received ; but as the 
times are hard, I hold to my original demand — forty onzas.” 

A terrible struggle betwixt pride and apprehension ap- 
peared to be going on in the bosom of the stranger. Des- 
pite the coldness of the night the perspiration streamed over 
his brow and down his cheeks. Some imperious necessity it 
was that had led him into this place — some strange mystery 
there must be — since the necessity he was now under tamed 
down a spirit that appeared untamable. The tone of jeering 
intrepidity which Pepe held toward him caused him to feel 
the urgency of a compromise ; and at length plunging his hand 
into his pocket he drew forth a purse, and presented it to the 
carabinier. 

“ Take it and go I” he cried, with impatience. 

Pep6 took the purse, and for a moment held it in his hand 
as if he would first count its contents. 

“ Bah !” he exclaimed, after a pause, “ I’ll risk it. I accept 
it for forty onzas. And now, senor stranger, I am deaf, dumb, 
and blind.” 

“ I count upon it,” coldly rejoined the unknown. 

“ By the life of my mother !” replied Pep6, “ since it’s not 
an affair of smuggling I don’t mind to lend you a hand — for 
as a coast-guard, you see, I could not take part in anything 
contraband — no, never !” 

“Very well, then,” rejoined the stranger, with a bitter 
smile, “ you may set your conscience at rest on that score. 
Guard this boat till my return. I go to join my men. 
Only whatever happens — whatever you may see — whatever 
you may hear — be, as you have promised, deaf, dumb, and 
blind. 

As he uttered these words the stranger sprang out of the 
boat, and took the road leading to the village. A turning in 
the path soon hid him from the sight of the coast-guard. 


THE SENTINEL OF LA ENSENADA. 


15 


Once left to himself, Pepe, under the light of the moon, 
counted out the glittering contents of the purse which he 
had extorted from the stranger. 

“ If this jewel is not false,” muttered he to himself, u then 
I don’t care if the government never pays me. Meanwhile, 
I must begin to-morrow to cry like a poor devil about the 
back pay. That will have a good effect.” 




THE WO OD-R ANGERS. 


** 


CHAPTER IIL 

THE ALCALDE AND HIS CLERK. 

It is not known how long Pepe remained at his post to 
await the return of the stranger : when the cock was heard 
to crow, and the aurora appeared in the eastern horizon, the 
little hay of Ensenada was completely deserted. 

Then life began to appear in the village. The dark sha- 
dows of the fishermen were seen upon the stair-like street, 
descending to the mole ; and the first beams of the morning 
lit up their departure. In a few minutes the little flotilla 
was out of sight ; and at the doors of the cottages the women 
and children only could be seen, appearing and disappearing 
at intervals. 

Among these wretched hovels of the village, there was 
one dwelling of greater pretensions than the rest. It was 
that of the alcalde, Don Ramon Cohecho, of whom we have 
already spoken. It alone still kept its doors and windows 
closed against the morning light. 

It was full day, when a young man, wearing a high- 
crowned beaver hat — old, greasy and shining, like leather — 
walked up to the door of the alcalde’s mansion. The limbs 
of this individual were scantily covered with a pair of pan 
taloons, so tightly fitting as to appear like a second skin to 
his legs, so short as scarce to touch his ankles, and of such 
thin stulf as to ill protect the wearer from the sharp air of a 
November morning. The upper half of this individual was 
not visible. A little cloak, of coarse shaggy cloth, known as 


THE ALCALDE AND HIS CLERK. 


27 


fcn esclavina , covered him up to the very eyes. In the man- 
ner in which he so carefully guarded the upper part of his 
person with this pinched mantle, at the expense of his thighs 
and legs, an observer might have supposed that he was per- 
fectly content with his pantaloons. Appearances, however, 
are often deceptive ; for in truth the ambition of this youth, 
w r hose unsteady glance, miserable aspect, and a certain smell 
of old papers about him, proclaimed to be un escribano — his 
every-day dream was, to have a pair of pantaloons entirely 
different from his own — in other words, a pair with long 
ample legs, of good wide waist, and made out of fine broad- 
cloth. Such a pair would render him the most satisfied man 
in the world. 

This young man was the right hand of the alcalde — his 
name Gregorio Cagatinta. 

On reaching the door, he gave a modest knock with his 
horn ink-bottle, which he carried hanging to his button. 
The door w as opened by an old housekeeper. 

“ Ah ! it is you, Don Gregorio ?” cried the housekeeper, 
w 7 ith that superb courtesy so peculiar to the Spaniards — 'that 
even two shoeblacks on meeting lavish upon each other the 
epithet Don, at if each were a grand noble. 

“ Yes, it is I, Doha Nicolasa,” replied Gregorio. 

“ Santisima Virgen ! — since it is you, then I must be 
late, and my master will be waiting for his pantaloons that 
are not yet aired. Take a seat, Don Gregorio : he will soon 
be down.” 

The chamber into w r hich the notary’s clerk had been intro- 
duced would have been a large one, had it not been for the 
singular conglomeration of objects with which it was more 
than half filled. Nets of all sizes, masts, yards, and rudders 
of boats, oars, sails of every kind — both square and lateen— 
woollen shirts worn by sailors or fishermen, and a variety of 
other marine objects, were placed pell mell in every cornel 


28 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


of the room. Notwithstanding, there was space enough left 
to hold three or four chairs around a large oaken table, upon 
which last stood a large cork ink-stand, with several goose- 
quill pens; with some sheets of half dirty paper placed 
ostentatiously around it to awe the visitors, who might have 
business with the alcalde. 

The presence of this odd assortment of objects, it would 
have been difficult for a stranger to explain — though there 
was no mystery about it. The fact is, that besides his official 
character as first magistrate, the alcalde had another role 
which he played, of rather an unofficial character. He was 
the pawnbroker of the place — that is, he lent out money in 
small sums, charging a real for every dollar by the week — in 
other words, a simple interest of twenty per cent, by the 
month, or two hundred and fifty per cent, per annum ! His 
clients being all fishermen, will account for the nautical cha- 
racter of the “ pledges ” that filled the chamber of audience. 

Cagatinta scarce deigned to cast a look at this miscel- 
laneous collection of objects. Had there been a pair of pan- 
taloons among them, it might have been different ; for to say 
the truth ; the probity of Don Gregorio was scarce firm 
enough to have resisted so strong a temptation as this would 
have been. The notary’s clerk was not exactly of that stuff 
of which honest men are composed. Nature, even in its 
crimes, does not leap to grand villanies at once ; it proceeds 
from less to greater ; and Cagatina, though still but young, 
was yet capable of a little bit of “ cribbing.” 

Don Ramon was not long in coming out of his sleeping- 
room. In a little while he showed his jovial face at the door 
of the audience chamber. 

He was a person of portly and robust figure ; and it was 
easily seen that one leg of his ample pantaloons would have 
been sufficient to have made a pair for the thin limbs and 
meagre body of the escribano. 


THE ALCALDE AND HIS CLERK. 


29 


“ For Dios ! Senor alcalde,” said the clerk, after having 
exchanged with his superior a profusion of matinal saluta* 
tions, “ what a splendid pair of pantaloons you have on !” 

From the alcalde’s answer, it was evident that this was 
not the first time that Cagatinta had made the remark. 

“ Ah ! Gregorio, amigo /” replied he, in a tone of good 
humour, “ you are growing tiresome with your repetitions. 
Patience, patience, senor escribano ! you know that for the 
services you are to render me — I say nothing of those already 
rendered— I have promised you my liver-coloured breeches, 
which have been only a very little used : you have only to 
gain them.” 

u But what services are to gain them, senor alcalde ?” 
inquired the clerk, in a despairing tone. 

“ Eh — Dios ! — who knows what — patience, amigo ! Some- 
thing may turn up all at once, that will give you that advan- 
tage over me. But come! Jet us to business— make out the 
deed of appropriation of the boat of that bad pay, Vicente 
Perez, who under pretence that he has six brats to feed, 
can’t reimburse me the twenty dollars I have advanced 
him.” 

Cagatinta drew out from his little portfolio a sheet of 
stamped paper, and sitting down by the table proceeded to 
execute the order of the magistrate. He was interrupted by 
a hurried knocking at the outer door — which had been closed 
to prevent intrusion. 

“ Who dare knock in that fashion ?” sharply inquired the 
alcalde. 

“ Ave Maria purisima /” cried a voice from without. 

“ Sin pecado concebida /” replied at the same time the 
two acolytes within. 

And upon this formula, Gregorio hastened to the door, 
and opened it. 

« What on earth can have brought you here at this hour, 


30 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Don Juan de Dios Canelo?” inquired the alcalde in a tone 
of surprise, as the old steward of the Countess de Mediana 
appeared in the doorway, his bald forehead clouded with 
some profound chagrin. 

“ Ah, senor alcalde,” replied the old man, “ a terrible mis- 
fortune has happened last night — a great crime has been com- 
mitted — the Countess has disappeared, and the young Count 
along with her !” 

“ Are you sure of this ?” shouted the alcalde. 

“ Alas — you will only have to go up into the balcony that 
overlooks the sea, and there you will see in what state the 
assassins have left the Countess’s chamber.” 

“Justice! justice! Senor alcalde! Send out your algua- 
zils over the whole country ; find the villains — hang them !” 

This voice came from a woman still outside in the street. 
It was the femme de chambre of the Countess, who, to show 
a devotion which she very little felt, judged it apropos to 
make a great outcry as she precipitated herself into the 
chamber of audience. 

“ Ta-ta-ta, woman ! how you go on !” interrupted the 
alcalde. “Do you think I have a crowd of alguazils ? You 
'know very well that in this virtuous village there are only 
two ; and as these would starve if they didn’t follow some 
trade besides their official one, they are both gone fishing 
hours ago.” 

“ Ah, me !” cried the femme de cliambre , with a hypocriti- 
cal whine, “ my poor mistress! — who then is to help her ?” 

“ Patience, woman, patience !” said the alcalde. “ Don’t 
fear but that justice will be done.” 

The chamber-maid did not appear to draw much hope 
from the assurance, but only redoubled her cries, her excited 
behaviour strongly contrasting with the quiet manner in 
which the faithful old steward exhibited the sincerity of his 


THE ALCALDE AND HTS CLEKK. 


Sd 

Meanwhile a crowd of women, old men, and children, 
had gathered around the alcalde’s door, and by little and 
little, were invading the sanctuary of the audience chambei 
itself. 

Don Ramon advanced towards Cagatinta, who was rub- 
bing his hands under his esclavma , charmed at the idea of 
the quantity of stamped paper he would now have an oppor- 
tunity to blacken. 

“Now, friend Gregorio,” said the alcalde, in a low voice, 
“ the time has come, when, if you are sharp, you may gain 
the liver-coloured breeches.” 

He said no more ; but it was evident that the escribano 
understood him, at least, to a certain extent. The latter 
turned pale with joy, and kept his eye fixed upon every 
movement of his patron, determined to seize the first oppor- 
tunity that presented itself of winning the breeches. 

The alcalde reseated himself in his great leathern chair ; 
and commanding silence with a wave of his hand, addressed 
his auditory in a long and pompous speech, with that profuse 
grandiloquence of which the Spanish language is so capable. 

The substance of his speech was as follows : 

“ My children ! We have just heard from this respectable 
individual, Don Juan de Dios Canelo, that a great crime has 
last night been committed ; the full knowledge of this villany 
cannot fail to arrive at the ears of justice, from which nothing 
can be kept hid. Not the less are we to thank Don Juan 
for his official communication; it only remains for him to 
complete the accusation by giving the names of the guilty 
persons.” 

“ But, senior alcalde,” interrupted the steward, “I do not 
know them, although, as you say, my communication may be 
official — I can only say that I will do all in my power to assist 
in finding them.” 

“You understand, my children,” continued the alcalde, 


82 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


without taking notice of what the steward had said, 44 the 
worthy Canelo by his official communication asks for the 
punishment of the guilty persons. Justice will not be deaf to 
his appeal. I may now be permitted however to speak to 
you of my own little affairs, before abandoning myself to the 
great grief which the disappearance of the Countess and the 
young Count has caused me.” 

Here the alcalde made a sign to Cagatinta, whose whole 
faculties were keenly bent to discover what service was 
expected from him, by which he was to gain the object of 
his ambition — the liver-coloured breeches. 

The alcalde continued : — 

44 You all know, my children, of my attachment to the 
family of Mediana. You can judge, then, of the grief which 
this news has given me — news the more incomprehensible, 
since one neither knows by whom, or for what reason such a 
crime should be committed. Alas, my children ! I lose a 
powerful protector in the Countess de Mediana ; and in me 
the heart of the old and faithful servant is pierced with 
anguish, while as a man of business I am equally a sufferer. 
Yes, my children ! In the deceitful security, which I felt 
no later than yesterday, I was up to the chateau, and had 
an important interview with the Countess in regard to my 
rents.” 

44 To ask time for their payment,” Cagatinta would hav& 
added, for the clerk was perfectly acquainted with the 
alcalde’s affairs. But Don Ramon did not allow him an 
opportunity of committing this enormous indiscretion, which 
would forever have deprived him of the promised breeches. 

44 Patience, worthy Cagatinta !” he exclaimed hastily, so 
as to prevent the other from speaking, 44 constrain this thirst 
for justice that consumes you! — Yes, my children !” he con- 
tinued, turning to his auditory, 44 in consequence of this feel- 
ing of security, which I have now cause to regret, I placed in 


THE ALCALDE AND HIS CLERK. 


3d 


the hands of the unfortunate Countess ” — here the voice of 
Don Ramon quivered — “ a sum equivalent to ten years of 
my rents in advance .” 

At this unexpected declaration, Cagatinta bounded from 
his chair as if stung by a wasp ; and the blood ran cold in his 
veins when he perceived the grand blunder he had been sc 
near committing. 

“ You will understand, then, my children, the terrible 
situation in which this disappearance of the Countess has 
placed me, when I tell you that I took no receipt from the 
lady, but this very morning was to have gone up for it.” 

This revelation produced a profound sensation among the 
auditory ; and though perhaps not one of them really 
believed the story, no one dared to give utterance to his 
incredulity. 

“ Fortunately,” continued the alcalde, “ the word af per- 
sons worthy of credit may yet repair the mistake I have com- 
mitted — fortunately there were witnesses of the payment.” 

Here Cagatinta — who like water that had been a long 
time dammed up and 
both his arms, and in a 

“ I can swear to it !” 

“ He can swear to it, : 

“ He can swear to il 
of the bystanders. 

“ Yes, my friends !” solemnly adcud Cagatinta. “ I swear 
to it now, and should have mentioned the matter sooner, but 
I was prevented by a little uncertainty I had an idea that 
it was fifteen years of rent, instead of ten, that I saw the 
alcalde hand over to the unfortunate Dona Luisa.” 

“ No, my worthy friend,” interrupted the alcalde in a tone 
of moderation, likely to produce an effect upon his auditory. 
“ It was only ten years of rent, which your valuable testimony 
will hinder me from losing.” 


had now found vent — str 
loud voice cried 

” said the alcalde 
t,” mechanically 



2 * 


34 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“Yes, seiior alcalde,” loplied the wily scribe, determined 
at all hazards to deserve the liver-coloured breeches, “I 
know it was ten years in advance, but there were also the 
two years of back rent which you paid — two years of arrears 
and ten in advance — twelve years in all. Dor Dios ! a large 
sum it would be to have lost !” 

And with this reflection Cagatinta sat dowx again, fancy- 
ing, no doubt, that he had fairly won the breeches. 

We shall not detail what further passed during the scene 
in the alcalde’s chamber of audience — where justice was 
practised as in the times of Gil Bias — long before and long 
after Gil Bias — for it is not very different in a Spanish law 
court at the hour in which we are writing. 

Enough to say that the scene concluded, most of the 
dramatis personse, with the alcalde at their head, proceeded 
to the chateau, to inspect the chamber, and if possible find 
out some clue to the mysterious disappearance of the Coun- 
tess. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER. 

On arriving at the chateau, the alcalde ordered the door 
of the Countess’s chamber to be burst in — for it was still 
bolted inside. On entering the apartment a picture of con- 
fusion was presented. Drawers empty, others drawn out, 
but only half sacked of their contents. 

All this did not indicate precisely that there had been any 
violence. A voluntary but hurried departure on the part of 
the Countess might have left just such traces as were dis- 
covered. The bed was still undisturbed, as if she had not 


THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER. 


35 


lain down upon it. This fact appeared to indicate a fore- 
knowledge, on the part of the lady, of what was to happen 
— as if she had had the intention of going off, but had made 
no preparation until the moment of departure. The furni- 
ture was all in its place — the window curtains and those of 
the alcove, had not been disarranged, and no traces of a 
struggle were to be discerned within the chamber, which 
contained many light fragile objects of furniture that could 
not fail to have been destroyed by the slightest violence. 

The fetid odour of an oil-lamp filled the apartment despite 
the cold air that came in through the open window. It 
was evident, therefore, that this lamp had been left alight, 
and had continued to burn until the oil had become 
exhausted. 

It could not be a robbery either. A thousand articles 
of value, likely enough to have tempted the cupidity of 
robbers, were left behind both on the tables and in the 
drawers. 

The conclusion then was that neither assassination nor 
burglary had taken place. 

Notwithstanding all these deceptive appearances, the old 
steward shook his head doubtfully. The signs were suffi- 
cient to baffle his reason, which was none of the strongest, 
but the faithful servant could not bring himself to believe 
that his noble mistress would take flight in a manner so 
extraordinary — his good sense revolted at the thought. In 
his belief some crime had been committed, but how was it 
to be explained — since the assassin had left no traces of his 
guilt? The devoted Don Juan looked with a sad eye upon 
that desolate chamber — upon the dresses of his beloved mis- 
tress scattered over the floor ; upon the cradle of the young 
Count, where he had so lately slept, rosy and smiling, under 
the vigil of his mother. 

Suddenly struck with an idea, the steward advanced 


36 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


towards the iron balcony that fronted upon the sea — that 
where the window had been found open. With inquiring 
eye he looked to the ground below, which was neither more 
nor less than the beach of the sea itself. It was at no great 
depth below ; and he could easily have seen from the bal- 
cony any traces that might have been there. But there 
were none. The tide had been in and out again. No trace 
was left on the sand or pebbles that had the slightest signi- 
fication in regard to the mysterious event. The wind sighed, 
the waves murmured as always; but amid the voices of 
nature none raised itself to proclaim the guilty. 

On the fair horizon only were descried the white sails of 
a ship, gradually passing outwards and fading away into the 
azure of the sea. 

While the old steward watched the disappearance of the 
ship with a sort of dreamy regard, he sent up a silent prayer 
that his mistress might still be safe. The others, with the 
exception of the alcalde and his clerk, stood listening to the 
mournful howling of the wind against the cliffs, which seemed 
alternately to weep and sigh as if lamenting the sad event 
that had just transpired. 

As regards the alcalde and his assistant, they were under 
the same conviction as Don Juan — both believing that a 
crime had been committed — though they did not care to 
avow their belief, for reasons known to themselves. The 
absence of any striking evidence that might lead to the dis- 
covery of the delinquents, but more especially the difficulty 
of finding some interested individual able to pay the expenses 
of justice (the principal object of criminal prosecutions in 
Spain), damped the zeal of Don Ramon and the scribe. 
Both were satisfied to leave things as they stood — the one 
contented with having gained the recompense so much 
coveted — the other with the twelve years of rents which ha 
felt sure of gaining. 


THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER. 


87 

l< Volga me Dios ! my children,” said the alcalde, turning 
toward the witnesses, “ I cannot explain what fancy the 
Countess may have had in going out by the window — for 
the door of the chamber, bolted inside, leaves no room to 
doubt that she went that way. Some woman’s caprice, 
perhaps, which justice has no business to meddle with.” 

“Perhaps it was to escape from giving the alcalde his 
receipt,” suggested one of the bystanders to another, in an 
undertone of voice. 

“ But how, Don Juan,” continued the magistrate, address- 
ing himself to the old steward, “ how did you know of the 
Countess’s disappearance, since you could not get into the 
room ?” 

“That is simple enough,” replied the old man. “At the 
ho^r in which the chamber-maid is accustomed to present 
herself before the senora, she knocked as usual at the door. 
No answer was given. She knocked louder, and still 
received no answer. Growing anxious, she came to me tb 
tell me. I went to the door myself, first knocked and then 
called ; and receiving no reply, I ran round to the garden 
and got the ladder. This I placed against the balcony, and 
mounted up in order to see through the window. On reach- 
ing the window I found it open, and the chamber in the con- 
dition you now see it.” 

When the steward had finished this declaration, Cagatinta 
whispered some words in the ear of the alcalde ; but the 
latter only replied by a shake of the shoulders, and an 
expression of disdainful incredulity. 

“ Who knows ?” answered the scribe in reply to this dumb 
show. 

“It might be,” muttered Don Ramon, “we shall see 
presently.” 

“ I persist, gentlemen,” continued the alcalde, “ in my 
belief that the Countess has gone out by the window ; and 


38 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


however singular it may appear, I believe the lady is free tc 
her fancy to go out as she pleases — even though it be by a 
window.” 

Cagatinta, and some others, complimented, with a laugh, 
this little bit of magisterial facetiousness. 

“ But, senor alcalde,” spoke out Don Juan, disgusted 
with this ill-timed pleasantry, “ a proof that there has been 
a forced entry into the chamber is this broken glass of the 
window, of which you see some pieces still lying on the 
balcony.” 

“ This old fool,” muttered the alcalde to himself, “ is not 
going to let me have any breakfast. By this time every- 
thing will be cold, and Nicolasa What do these bits of 

glass prove ?” he continued, raising his voice ; “ don’t you 
think that the breeze which was blowing roughly last night 
might have caused this ? The window was hanging open, 
and the wind clashing it violently against the frame, would 
readily cause the breaking of a pane ?” 

“But why is it,” answered Don Juan, “that the broken 
pane is precisely the one adjacent to the fastening ? It must 
have been knocked out to get the window open.” 

“ Carramba! Senor Don Juan de Dios !” cried the alcalde, 
in a peevish tone — at the same time biting his gold-headed 
cane, the emblem of his office — “ Is it you or I who have 
here the right to ask questions ? Carrai ! it appears to 
me that you make me cut a strange figure !” 

Here Cagatinta interposed with a modest air — 

“ I shall answer our friend Canelo, if you permit me. If 
the window was opened with the design he has stated, it 
must of course have been done from the outside. The 
pieces of glass then would have fallen into the chamber ; 
but such is not the case — there they lie on the balcony ! It 
has been the wind therefore, as his honor the alcalde has 
reasonably stated, that has done this business. Unless, 


THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER. 


39 


indeed,” added he, with a feigned smile, “ some trunk car- 
ried incautiously past the window might have struck one of 
the squares. This may have been — since it appears the 
Countess intends a prolonged absence, judging from the 
effects — taken with her, as testified by the empty drawers.” 

The old steward lowered his head at this proof, which 
seemed completely to falsify his assertion. He did not hear 
the last observation of Cagatinta, who was cogitating 
whether he ought not to exact from the alcalde something 
more than the liver-coloured breeches, as a recompense of 
this new service he had done him. 

While the faithful Don J uan was busy with painful reflec- 
tions that threw their shadows upon his bald forehead, the 
alcalde approached and addressed him in a voice so Iqw as 
not to be heard by the others. 

“I have been a little sharp with you, Don Juan — I have 
not sufficiently taken into account the grief, which you as a 
loyal servant must feel under such an unexpected stroke. 
But tell me ! independent of the chagrin which this affair has 
caused you, are you not also affected by some fears about 
your own future ? You are old — weak in consequence — and 
without resources ?” 

“ It is just because I am old, and know that I have not 
long to live, that I am so little affected. My grief, how- 
ever,” added he with an air of pride, “ is pure and free from 
all selfishness. The generosity of Count de Mediana has left 
me enough to pass the remainder of my days in tranquillity. 
But I should pass them all the more happily if I could only 
see avenged the lady of my old master.” 

“I approve of your sentiments, Senor Don Juan! you are 
doubly estimable on account of your sorrow, and as to your 

savings Notary! Senor Cagatinta!” cried the alcalde, 

suddenly raising his voice so as to be heard by all present, 
“Make out a proems verbal — that the Senor Don Juan Dios 


40 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Canelo, here present, will become prosecutor in this case. 
It cannot be doubted that a crime has been committed ; and 
it is a duty we owe to ourselves as well as to this respectable 
man, to seek out and punish the authors of it.” 

“ But, sehor alcalde !” interposed the steward, perfectly 
stupefied with this unexpected declaration, “ I did not say — 
I have no intention to become prosecutor” 

“ Take care, old man !” cried Don Ramon, in a solemn 
tone ; “ if you deny what you have already confided to me, 
grievous charges may be brought against you. As friend 
Cagatinta has just this minute observed to me, the ladder by 
which you scaled the balcony might prove sinister designs. 
But I know you are incapable of such. Rest contented, then, 
at being the accuser in place of the accused. Come, gentle- 
men! our duty calls us outside. Perhaps underneath the 
balcony we may find some traces of this most mysterious 
matter.” 

So saying, the alcalde left the chamber, followed by the 
crowd. 

Poor Don Juan found himself thus unexpectedly between 
two horns of a dilemma, the result in either case being the 
same — that is, the spoliation of the little pecactillo he had put 
away against old age. He shook his head, and with a sub- 
lime resignation accepted the voice of iniquity for that of 
God — consoling himself with the reflection, that this last 
sacrifice might be of some service to the family whose bread 
he had so long eaten. 

No trace was found under the balcony. As already stated, 
the waves must have obliterated any footmarks or other 
vestiges that may have been left. 

It was believed for awhile that an important capture had 
been made, in the person of a man found lying in a crevice 
among the rocks. This proved to be Pepe the Sleeper. Sud- 
denly aroused, the coast-guard was asked if he had seen or 


THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER. 


41 


heard anything? No, was the reply, nothing. But Pepe 
remembered his full pockets; and fearing that the alcalde 
might take a fancy to search him, saw that some ruse was 
necessary to put an end to the scene. This he succeeded in 
doing, by begging the alcalde for a real to buy bread with ! 

What was to be done with this droll fellow ? The alcalde 
felt no inclination to question him farther, but left him to go 
to sleep again and sleep as long as he pleased. 

Any further investigation appeared to Don Ramon to be 
useless — at least until some order might be received from 
higher quarters — besides it would be necessary to graduate 
the expenses of justice to the means of the prosecutor ; and 
with this reflection, the alcalde went home to his break- 
fast. 

In the evening of this eventful day for the village of 
Elanchovi — when the twilight had fallen upon the water — 
two persons might have been seen wandering along the 
beach, but evidently desirous of shunning one another. Both 
appeared in grief, though their sorrows sprang from a very 
different cause. 

One was the poor old steward, who, while heaving a sigh 
at the thought that his worldly store was about to bo 
absorbed in the inexorable gulf of justice, at the same time 
searched for some trace of his lost mistress, praying for her 
and her child, and calling upon God to take them under his 
protection. 

The other pensive wanderer was Cagatinta, of whom the 
alcalde had again taken the advantage. Profiting by the 
confidence of the scribe, Don Ramon had induced the latter 
to commit his oath to stamped paper ; and then instead of 
the liver-coloured breeches had offered him an old hat in 
remuneration. This Cagatinta had indignantly refused. 

He was now lamenting his vanished dreams of ambition, 
his silly confidence, and the immorality of false oaths — not 


42 


THE WOOD-BANGERS. 


paid for. Nevertheless, he was meditating whether it would 
not be more prudent to accept the old hat in lieu of the liver* 
coloured breeches, alas 1 so well earned 1 


CHAPTER V. 

PEPE’S revanche. 

When Pepe the Sleeper had made himself master of the 
secret of Captain Despierto — which he had found of such 
profitable service — he was not aware that the captain had 
held back another. Nevertheless, the coast-guard felt some 
kind of remorse of conscience — though he had as yet no idea 
of the terrible consequences that had resulted. His remorse 
was simply that he had betrayed his post of sentinel ; and he 
determined that he would make up for it by a more zealous 
performance of duty whenever an opportunity should offer. 
To bring about this contingency, he went on the very next 
night, and requested to be. once more placed on the post of 
Ensenada. 

His wish was gratified ; and while Don Lucas believed him 
asleep as usual, Pepe kept wide awake, as on the preceding 
night. 

W e shall leave him at his post, while we recount what was 
taking place off the coast not far from the Ensenada. 

The night was as foggy as that which preceded it, when 
about the hour of ten o’clock a coaster was observed gliding 
in towards the cliffs, and entering among a labyrinth of rocks 
that lay near the mouth of the bay. 

This vessel appeared well guided and well sailed. The 


pepe’s revanche 


43 


shape of her hull, her rigging,*her sails, denoted her to be a 
ship-of-war, or at the least a privateer. 9 

The boldness with which she manoeuvred, in the middle of 
the darkness, told that her pilot must be some one well 
acquainted with this dangerous coast ; and also that her com- 
mander had an understanding with some people on the 
shore. 

The sea dashed with fury against both sides of the rocky 
strait, through which the coaster was making her way, but 
still she glided safely on. This strait once cleared, a large 
bay opened before her, in which the sea was more ca^m, and 
rippled gently up against a beach of sand and pebble. 

The coaster at length succeeded in gaining this bay ; and 
then by a manoeuvre directed by the officer of the wa*ch she 
hove-to with a celerity that denoted a numerous crew 

Two boats were let down upon the water, and, being 
instantly filled with men, were rowed off in the direction of 
the upper end of the bay, where some houses, which could 
be distinguished by their whiteness, stood scattered along the 
beach. 

To end the mystery, let us say that the little coaster was a 
French vessel — half-privateer half smuggler — and had entered 
the bay with a double design — the disposing of merchandize 
and the procuring of provisions, of which the crew began to 
stand in need. Further we shall add, that the pilot was a 
skilful fisherman of Elanchovi, furnished by Don Lucas Des- 
pierto, captain of the coast-guard ! 

The officer of the watch silently walked the deck — now 
listening to the waves surging against the sides of the little 
vessel — now stooping a moment over the light of the binnacle 
— anon watching the sails that flapped loosely upon the 
yards, now turned contrary to the direction of the wind. 

An hour had been passed in this manner, when a brisk 
fusillade was heard fronr several points on the shore. Othei 


44 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


reports of musketry appeared *to respond and shortly aftei 
the two boat3*came hastening back to the coaster. 

It was Pepe who had caused all this ; Pepe, who, to th<s 
great chagrin of his captain, had given warning to the coast* 
guards. He had been too late, notwithstanding his zeal, for 
the boats came back laden with sheep and other provisions 
of every sort. 

The last of the men who climbed over the gangway — just 
as the boats were being hoisted up — was a sailor of gigantic 
height, of colossal proportions, and Herculean vigour. He was 
a Canadian by birth. He carried in his arms a young child 
that was cold and motionless, as if dead. A slight trembling 
in its limbs, however, proclaimed that there was still life in it. 

“ What the deuce have you got there, Bois Rose ?” 
demanded the officer of the watch. 

“With your leave, lieutenant, it’s a young child that I 
f}und in a boat adrift, half dead with hunger and cold. A 
woman, quite dead, and bathed in her own blood, still held 
it in her arms. I had all the trouble in the world to get the 
boat away from the place where I found it, for those dogs 
of Spaniards espied it, and took it for one of ours. There 
was a terrible devil of a coast-guard kept all the while firing 
at me with as much obstinacy as awkwardness. I should 
have silenced him with a single shot, had I not been hindered 
in looking after this poor little creature. But if ever I return 
• — ah !” 

“And -what do you intend to do with the child ?” 

“ Take care of it lieutenant, until peace be proclaimed ; 
then return here and find out whom it belongs to.” 

Unfortunately the only knowledge he was able to obtain 
about the infant was its name, Fabian, and that the woman 
who had been assassinated was its mother. * * * 

Two years passed during which the French privateer did 
not return to the coast of Spain. The tenderness of the 


pepe’s revanche. 


45 


sailor towards the child he had picked up — which was no 
other than the young Count Fabian de Mediana — did not 
cease for an instant, but seemed rather to increase with time. 
It was a singular and touching spectacle ^to witness the care, 
almost motherly, which this rude nurse lavished upon the 
child, and the constant ruses to which he had recourse to 
procure a supplement to his rations for its nourishment. 
The sailor had to fight for his own living; but he often 
indulged in dreams that some day a rich prize would be cap- 
tured, his share of which would enable him to take better 
care of his adopted son. Unfortunately he did not take into 
his calculations the perilous hazards of the life he was 
leading. 

One morning the privateer was compelled to run from an 
English brig of war of nearly twice her force ; and although 
a swift sailer, the French vessel soon found that she could 
not escape from her pursuer. ' She disdained to refuse 
the combat, and the two vessels commenced cannonading 
each other. 

For several hours a sanguinary conflict was kept up, when 
the Canadian sailor^dashed with blood, and blackened with 
powder, ran towards the child and lifting it in his arms, car- 
ried it to the gangway. There, in the midst of the tumult, 
with blood running over the decks, amidst the confusion of 
cries and the crash of falling masts, he wished to engrave on 
the child’s memory the circumstance of a separation, of 
which he had a strong presentiment. In this moment, which 
should leave even upon the memory of an infant, a souvenir 
that would never be effaced, he called out to the child, while 
shielding it with his huge body : 

“ Kneel, my son !” 

The child knelt, trembling with affright. 

“ You see what is going on ?” 

44 1 am afraid,” murmured Fabian, “ the blood — the 


46 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


noise — ” and saying this he hid himself in the arms of his pro> 
tector. 

“ It is well,” replied the Canadian, in a solemn tone. 
M Never forget, then, that in this moment, a sailor, a man who 
loved you as his own life, said to you — kneel and pray for 
your mother ” 

He was not permitted to finish the speech. At that mo- 
ment a bullet struck him and his blood spouting over the 
child, caused it to utter a lamentable cry. The Canadian had 
just strength left to press the boy to his breast, and to add 
some words ; but in so low a tone that Fabian could only com- 
prehend a single phrase. It was the continuation of what he 
had been saying — “ Your mother — whom I found — dead 
beside you.” 

With this speech ended the consciousness of the sailor. 
He was not dead, however ; his wound did not prove fatal. 

When he came to his senses again he found himself in the 
fetid hold of a ship. A terrible thirst devoured him. He 
called out in a feeble voice, but no one answered him. He 
perceived that he was a prisoner, and he wept for the loss of 
his liberty, but still more for that of the adopted son that 
Providence had given him. 

What became of Fabian? That the history of the 
“Wood Rangers” will tell us; but before crossing from 
the prologue of our drama — before crossing from Europe to 
America — a few events connected with the tragedy of Elan- 
chovi remain to be told. 

It was several days after the disappearance of the Countess, 
before anything was known of her fate. Then some fisher- 
men found the abandoned boat driven up among the rocks 
and still containing the body of the unfortunate lady. This 
was sume light thrown upon the horrid mystery; but the 
cause of the assassination long remained unknown, and the 
author of it long unpunished. 


SONORA. 


47 


The old steward tied black crape upon the vanes o I the 
chateau, and erected a wooden cross on the spot where the 
body of his beloved mistress had been found ; but, as every- 
thing in this human world soon wears out, the sea-breeze had 
not browned the black crape, nor the waves turned green the 
wood of the cross, before the tragic event ceased to cause 
the slightest emotion in the village — aye, even ceased to be 
talked of. 


CHAPTER VI. 

SONORA. 

Sonora, naturally one of the richest provinces of Mexico 
is also one of the least known. Vast tracts in this State 
have never been explored ; and others have been seen only 
by the passing traveller. Nevertheless, Nature has been 
especially bountiful to this remote territory. In some parts 
of it the soil, scarce scratched by the plough, will yield twq 
crops in the year ; while in other places gold is scattered 
over the surface, or mixed with the sands, in such quantity 
as to rival the placers of California. 

It is true that these advantages are, to some extent neu- 
tralized by certain inconveniences. Vast deserts extend 
between the tracts of fertile soil, which render travelling 
from one to the other both difficult and dangerous ; and, in 
many parts of the province the savage aborigines of the 
country are still masters of the ground. This is espe- 
cially the case in those districts where the gold is found in 
placers. 

These placers are not to be approached by white men, 
unless when in strong force. The Indians repel all such ad 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


4 * 

vances with warlike fury. Not that they care to protect the 
gold — of whose value they have been hitherto ignorant — but 
simply from their hereditary hatred of the white race. Ne 
vertheless, attempts are frequently made to reach the desired 
gold fields. Some that result in complete failure, and some 
that are more or less successful. 

The natural riches of Sonora have given rise to very con- 
siderable fortunes, and not a few very large ones, of which 
the origin was the finding a “ nugget ” of virgin gold ; while 
others again had for their basis the cultivation of the rich 
crops which the fertile soil of Sonora can produce. 

There is a class of persons in Sonora, who follow no other 
business than searching for gold placers or silver mines, and 
whose only knowledge consists of a little practical acquaint- 
ance with metallurgy. These men are called gambusinos. 
From time to time they make long excursions into the unin- 
habited portions of the State ; where, under great privations, 
and exposed to a thousand dangers, they hastily and very 
superficially work some vein of silver, or wash the auriferous 
sands of some desert-stream, until, tracked and pursued by 
the Indians, they are compelled to return to their villages. 
Here they find an audience delighted to listen to their adven- 
tures, and to believe the exaggerated accounts which they 
are certain to give of marvellous treasures lying upon the 
surface of the ground, but not to be approached on account 
of some great danger, Indian or otherwise, by which they are 
guarded. 

These gambusinos are to mining industry, what the back- 
woodsmen are to agriculture and commerce. They are its 
pioneers. Avarice stimulated by their wonderful stories, and 
often too by the sight of real treasure brought in from the 
desert — for the expeditions of the gambusinos do not always 
prove failures — avarice thus tempted, is ready to listen to 
the\oiceof some adventurous leader, who preaches a crusade 



For several hours a sanguinary conflict was kept up, when the Canadian sailor, 
dashed with blood, and blackened with powder, ran towards the child and lifting 
it in his arms, carried it to the gangway. — Page 45. 





SONORA. 


49 


of conquest and exploration. In Sonora, as elsewhere, there 
are always an abuudance of idle men to form the material of 
an expedition — -the sons of ruined families— men who dislike 
hard work, or indeed any work — and others who have some- 
how got outside the pale of justice. These join the leader 
and an expedition is organized. 

In general, however, enterprises of this kind are too lightly 
entered upon, as well as too loosely conducted; and the 
usual consequence is, that before accomplishing its object the 
band falls to pieces ; many become victims to hunger, thirst, 
or Indian hostility ; and of those who went forth only 
a few individuals return to tell the tale of suffering and dis- 
aster. 

This example will, for a while, damp the ardor for such 
pursuits. But the disaster is soon forgotten ; fresh stories of 
the gambusinos produce new dreams of wealth; and another 
band of adventurers is easily collected. 

At the time of which I am writing — that is, in 1830 — just 
twenty-two years after the tragedy of Elanchovi, one of 
these expeditions was being organized at Arispe — then the 
capital of the State of Sonora. The man who was to be the 
leader of the expedition was not a native of Mexico, but a 
stranger. He was a Spaniard who had arrived in Sonera but 
two months before, and who was known by the name, Don 
Estevan de Arechiza. 

~No one in Arispe remembered ever to have seen him ; and 
yet he appeared to have been in the country before this time. 
His knowledge of its topography, as well as its affairs and 
political personages, was so positive and complete, as to make 
it evident that Sonora was no stranger to him ; and the plan 
of his expedition appeared to have been conceived and 
arranged beforehand — even previous to his arrival from 
Europe. 

Beyond doubt, Don Estevan was master of considerable 
3 


50 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


resources. He had his train of paid followers, kept open 
house, made large bets at the monte table, lent money to 
friends without appearing to care whether it should ever be 
returned, and played “grand Seigneur” to perfection. No 
one knew from what source he drew the means to carry on 
such a “ war.” 

Now and then he was known to absent himself from 
Arispe for a week or ten days at a time. He was absent 
on some journey ; but no one could tell to what part of the 
country these journeys were made — for his well-trained ser- 
vants never said a word about the movements of their mas- 
ter. 

Whoever he might be, his courteous manner d VEspa - 
gnol , his generosity, and his fine free table, soon gave him a 
powerful influence in the social world of Arispe ; and by this 
influence he was now organizing an expedition, to penetrate 
to a part of the country which it was supposed no white man 
had ever yet visited. 

As Don Estevan almost always lost at play, and as he also 
neglected to reclaim the sums of money which he so liberally 
lent to his acquaintances, it began to be conjectured that he 
possessed not far from Arispe some rich placer of gold from 
which he drew his resources. The periodical journeys which 
he made gave colour to this conjecture. 

It was also suspected that he knew of some placer — still 
more rich — in the country into which he was about to lead 
his expedition. What truth there was in the suspicion we 
shall presently see. 

It will easily be understood that with such a reputation, 
Don Estevan would have very little difficulty in collecting 
his band of adventurers. Indeed it was said, that already 
more than fifty determined men from all parts of Sonora had 
assembled at the Presidio of Tubac on the Indian frontier 
—the place appointed for the rendezvous of the expedition. 


SONORA. 


61 


It was further affirmed that in a few days Don Estevan 
himself would leave Arispe to place himself at their 
head. 

This rumour, hitherto only conjecture, proved to be cor- 
rect ; for at one of the dinners given by the hospitable 
Spaniard, he announced to his guests that in three days he 
intended to start for Tubac. 

During the progress of this same dinner, a messenger was 
introduced into the dining-room, who handed to Don Estevan 
a letter, an answer to which he awaited. 

The Spaniard, begging of his guests to excuse him for a 
moment, broke the seal and read the letter. 

As there was a certain mystery about the habits of their 
convivial host, the guests were silent for awhile — all watch- 
ing his movements and the play of his features ; but the 
impassible countenance of Don Estevan did not betray a sin- 
gle emotion that was passing his mind, even to the most 
acute observer around the table. In truth he was a man who 
well knew how to dissemble his thoughts, and perhaps on 
that very occasion, more than any other, he required all his 
self-command. 

“It is well,” he said, calmly addressing himself to the 
messenger. “ Take my answer to him who sent you, that I 
will be punctual to the rendezvous in three days from the 
present.” 

With this answer the messenger took his departure. Don 
Estevan, turning to his guests, again apologized for his impo- 
liteness ; and the dinner, for an instant suspended, once more 
progressed with renewed activity. 

Nevertheless the Spaniard appeared more thoughtful than 
before ; and his guests did not doubt, but that he had 
received some news of more than ordinary interest. 

We shall leave them to their conjectures, and precede Don 
Estevan to the mysterious rendezvous which had been given 


52 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


him, and the scene of which was to be a small village lying 
upon the route to the Presidio of Tubac. 

The whole country between Arispe and the Presidio in 
question may be said to be almost uninhabited. Along the 
route only mean hovels are encountered, with here and there 
a hacienda of greater pretensions. These houses are rarely 
solitary, but collected in groups at long distances apart. 
Usually a day’s journey lies between them, and, consequently, 
they are the stopping-places for travellers, who may be on 
their way towards the frontier. But the travellers are few, 
and the inhabitants of these miserable hovels pass the greater 
part of their lives in the middle of a profound solitude. A 
little patch of Indian corn which they cultivate, — a few head 
of cattle, which, fed upon the perfumed pastures of the 
plains, produce beef of an exquisite flavour, — a sky always 
clear, — and, above all, a wonderful sobriety of living, — 
enable these dwellers of the desert steppes of Sonora to live, 
if not in a state of luxury, at least free from all fear of want. 
What desires need trouble a man who sees a blue sky always 
over his head, and who finds in the smoke of a cigarette of 
his own making, a resource against all the cravings of hun- 
ger ? 

At one part of the year, however, these villages of hovels 
are uninhabited — altogether abandoned by their occupants. 
This is the dry season , during the greater portion of -which 
the cisterns that supply the villages with -water become dried 
up. The cisterns are fed by the rains of heaven, and no 
other water than this can be found throughout most tracts 
of the country. When these give out, the settlements have 
to be abandoned, and remain until the return of the periodi- 
cal rains. 

In a morning of the year 1830, at the distance of about 
three days’ journey from Arispe, a man was seated, or rather 
half reclining, upon his serape in front of a rude hovel. A 


SONORA. 


53 


few other huts of a similar character were near, scattered 
here and there over the ground. It was evident, from the 
profound silence that reigned among these dwellings, ana 
the absence of human forms, or implements of household 
use, that the rancheria was abandoned by its half nomad 
population. Such in reality was the fact, for it was now the 
very height of the dry season. Two or three roads branched 
out from this miserable group of huts, leading oft' into a thick 
forest which surrounded it on all sides. They were rather 
paths than roads, for the tracks which they followed were 
scarce cleared of the timber that once grew upon them. At 
the point of junction of these roads the individual alluded to 
had placed himself ; and his attitude of perfect ease told that 
he was under no apprehension from the profound and awe- 
inspiring loneliness of the place. The croak of the ravens 
flitting from tree to tree hoarsely uttered in their flight; the 
cry of the chciculucas as they welcomed the rising sun, were 
the only sounds that broke the stillness of the scene. 

Presently the white fog of the night began to rise upward 
and disappear under the strength of the sunbeams. Only a 
few flakes of it still hung over the tops of the mezquite and 
iron-wood trees that grew thickly around the huts. 

Near where the man lay, there might be seen the remains 
of a large fire. It had been kindled no doubt to protect him 
from the chill dews of the night; and It now served him to 
prepare his breakfast. Some small cakes of wh eaten meal, 
with a few pieces of tasajo, were already placed upon the red 
embers of the fire ; but notwithstanding that these would 
make but a meagre repast, the man appeared eagerly to 
await the enjoyment of it. 

Near at hand, with a frugality equal to that of his master, 
a horse was browsing upon the tufts of dry yellow grass, that 
grew thinly over the ground. This horse, with a saddle and 
bridle lying near, proved the solitary individual to be a 


54 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


traveller. Cont rary to the usual custom of the country, the 
norse had no lazo, or fastening of any kind upon him ; but 
was free to wander where he pleased.” 

The costume of the traveller consisted in a sort of jacket, 
or vest of brick-coloured leather, without buttons or any 
opening in front, but drawn over the head after the manner 
of a shirt. Wide pantaloons of the same material, open from 
the knee downwards, and fastened at the waist by a scarf of 
red China crape. Under the pantaloons, and covering the 
calf of the leg nearly up to the knee, could be seen the botas 
of strong stamped leather, in one of which was stuck a long 
knife with a horn hilt — thus ready to the hand whether the 
owner was seated, standing, or on horseback. A large felt 
hat, banded with a toquilla of Venetian pearls, completed a 
costume sufficiently picturesque, the vivid colours of which 
were in harmony with that of the serape on which the travel- 
ler was reclining. This costume denoted one of those men 
accustomed to gallop among the thorny jungles that cover 
the desert steppes of North Mexico; and who in their expe- 
ditions, whether against Indian enemies, or for whatever 
purpose, sleep with indifference under the shadow of a tree, 
or the open heaven itself, — in the forest, or upon the naked 
plain. 

There was in the features of this traveller a singular mix- 
ture of brutal ferocity and careless good humour. A crooked 
nose, with thick bushy eyebrows, and black eyes that sparkled 
from time to time with a malicious fire, gave to his counte- 
nance a sinister aspect, and belied the expression of his mouth 
and lips, that presented rather a pleasant and smiling con- 
tour. But the man’s features, when viewed as a whole, could 
not fail to inspire a certain feeling of repulsiveness mingled 
with fear. A short carbine that lay by his side, together 
with the long knife, whose haft protruded above the top of 
1 fl boots, did not in any way tame down the ferocious aspect 


SONORA. 


50 


of his face. On the contrary they proclaimed him one whom 
it would not be desirable to have for a companion in the 
desert. 

Despite the nonchalance of his attitude, it was evident 
that, he awaited some one ; but as everything in these coun 
tries is on a large scale, so also is the virtue of patience. 
This outlaw — for everything about him signified that he was 
one of some sort — this outlaw, we say, having made three 
days’ journey before arriving upon the ground where he 
now was, thought nothing of a few hours, less or more, spent 
in expectation. In the desert, he who has travelled a hun- 
dred leagues, will consider it a mere bagatelle to wait for a 
hundred hours : unlike to him who keeps an appointment in 
the midst of a great city, where a delay of a quarter of an 
hour will be endured with feverish impatience. 

So it was with our solitary traveller ; and when the hoofi 
strokes of a horse were heard at some distance off in the 
forest, he did nothing more than to make a slight change in 
the attitude in which he had been reclining ; while his steed, 
also hearing the same sounds, tossed up his head and 
neighed joyously. The hoof-strokes each moment were 
heard more distinctly ; and it was evident that a horseman 
was galloping rapidly in the direction of the huts. After a 
little the strokes became more gentle, and the gallop 
appeared to be changed to a walk. The rider was approach- 
ing with caution. 

A few seconds intervened, and then upon one of the roads 
— that leading to Arispe — the horseman was perceived com- 
ing on at a slow and cautious pace. 

On perceiving the traveller, still half reclining upon his 
8erape, the horseman drew his rein still tighter and halted, 
and the two men remained for some seconds regarding each 
other with a fixed and interrogative glance. 


50 


THE WOOD-EANGEKS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

TWO HONEST GENTLEMEN. 

The new comer was a tall man with a dark complexion, 
and thick black beard, costumed very similarly to the other 
— in vest and pantaloons of brick red leather, felt sombrero, 
sash, and boots. He was mounted upon a strong active 
horse. 

It may appear strange that during the period of mutual 
examination, each of these two men made a very similar 
reflection about the other; but it. was scarcely strange 
either, considering that both presented an equally suspicious 
aspect. 

“ Carramba /” muttered the horseman as he eyed the 
man on the sercipe , “ if I wasn’t sure that he is the gentle- 
man I have been sent to meet, I should believe that I had 
chanced upon a very unlucky acquaintance.” 

At the same instant he upon the ground said to himself— 

“ Por Dios! if that infernal Seven of Spades had left any 
dollars in my purse, I should have considered them in danger 
of being taken out of it just now.” 

Despite the nature of his reflection, the horseman did not 
hesitate any longer, but spurring his horse forward to the 
edge of the fire, lifted his hat courteously from his head, and 
saluted him on the ground, at the same time saying inter- 
rogatively : — 

“No doubt it is the Senor Don Pedro Cuchillo I have the 
honour to address ?” 


TWO HONEST GENTLEMEN. 


51 


“ The same, cavallero !” replied the other, rising to his 
feet, and returning the salute with no less politeness than it 
had been given. 

“ Cavallero ! I have been sent forward to meet you, and 
announce to you the approach of the Senior Arechiza, who at 
this time cannot be many leagues distant. My name is 
Manuel Baraja, your very humble servant.” 

“ Your honour will dismount?” 

The horseman did not wait for the invitation to be 
repeated, but at once flung himself from the saddle. After 
unbuckling his enormous spurs, he speedily unsaddled his 
horse, fastened a long lazo around his neck, and then giving 
him a smart cut with the short whip which he carried, 
despatched the animal without further ceremony to share 
the meagre provender of his companion. 

At this movement the tasajo , beginning to sputter over 
the coals, gave out an odour that resembled the smell of a 
dying lamp. Notwithstanding this, Baraja cast towards it a 
look of longing. 

“ It appears to me, Senor Cuchillo,” said he, “ that you 
are well provided here. Carramba! — tortillas , of wheaten 
meal ! tasajo l — it is a repast for a prince !” 

“ Oh, yes,” replied Cuchillo, with a certain air of foppish- 
ness, “ I treat myself well. It makes me happy to know that 
the dish is to your liking ; I beg to assure you, it is quite at 
your service.” 

“ You are very good, and I accept your offer without 
ceremony. The morning air has sharpened my appetite.” 

And saying this, Baraja proceeded to the mastication of 
the tasajo and tortillas. After being thus engaged for some 
time, he once more addressed himself to his host. 

“ Dare I tell you, Senor Cuchillo, the favorable impression 
I had of you at first sight ?” 

“ Oh ! you shock my modesty, senor. I would rathe* 

4 * 


58 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


state the good opinion your first appearance gare me of 
you /” 

The two new friends here exchanged a salute, full of affa* 
bility, and then continued to eat, Baraja harpooning upon 
the point of his long knife another piece of meat out of the 
ashes. 

“ If it please you, Senor Baraja,” said Cuchillo, “ w r e may 
talk over our business while we are eating. You will find me 
a host sans ceremonies 

“Just what pleases me.” 

“Don Estevan, then, has received the message which I 
sent him ?” 

“ He has, but what that message was is only known to 
you and him.” 

“No doubt of that,” muttered Cuchillo to himself. 

“ The Senor Arechiza,” continued the envoy , “ started for 
Tubac shortly after receiving your letter. It was my duty 
to accompany him, but he ordered me to proceed in advance 
of him with these commands: ‘ In the little village of Huerfano 
you will find a man, by name Cuchillo ; you shall say to him 
that the proposal he makes to me deserves serious attention ; 
and that since the place he has designated as a rendezvous 
is on the way to Tubac, I will see him on my journey.’ 
This instruction was given by Don Estevan an hour or so 
before his departure, but although I have ridden a little 
faster to execute his orders, he cannot be far behind me.” 

“ Good ! Senor Baraja, good !” exclaimed Cuchillo, evi- 
dently pleased w T ith the communication just made, “ and if 
the business which I have with Don Estevan be satisfactorily 
concluded — which I am in hopes it will be — you are likely to 
have me for a comrade in this distant expedition. But,” 
continued he, suddenly changing the subject, “ you will, no 
doubt, be astonished that I have given Don Estevan a ren- 
dezvous in such a singular place as this ?” 


TWO HONEST GENTLEMEN. 


50 

“No,” coolly replied Baraja, “you may have reasons for 
being partial to solitude. Who does not love it at times ?” 

A most gracious smile playing upon the countenance of 
Cucliilo, denoted that his new acquaintance had correctly 
divined the truth. 

“Precisely,” he replied, “the ill-behaviour of a friend 
towards me, and the malevolent hostility of the alcalde of 
Arispe have caused me to seek this tranquil retreat. That is 
just why I have established my head-quarters in an aban- 
doned village, where there is not a soul to keep company 
with.” 

“Senor Don Pedro,” replied Baraja, “I have already 
formed too good an opinion of you not to believe that the 
fault is entirely upon the side of the alcalde , and especially 
on the part of your friend.” 

“ I thank you, Senor Baraja, for your good opinion,” 
returned Cuchillo, at the same time taking from the cinders a 
piece of the meat, half burnt, half raw, and munching it down 
with the most perfect indifference ; “ I thank you sincerely, 
and when I tell you the circumstances you may judge for 
yourself.” 

“ I shall be glad to hear them,” said the other, easing 
himself down into a horizontal position ; “ after a good 
repast, there is nothing I so much enjoy as a good story.” 

After saying this, and lighting his cigarette, Baraja 
turned upon the broad of his back, and with his eyes fixed 
upon the blue sky, appeared to enjoy a perfect beatitude. 

« The story is neither long nor interesting,” responded 
Cuchillo; “what happened to me might happen to all the 
world. I was engaged with this friend in a quiet game of 
cards, when he pretended that I had tricked him. The 
affair came to words — ” 

Here the narrator paused for an instant, to take a drink 
from his leathern bottle, and then continued — 


60 


THE W OOD-RANGEKS. 


“My friend had the indelicacy to permit himself to drqp 
down dead in my presence.” 

“ What ! at your words ?” 

“No, with the stab of a knife which I gave him,” coolly 
replied the outlaw. 

“ Ah ! no doubt your friend was in the wrong, and you 
received great provocation?” 

“ The alcalde did not think so. He pestered me in the 
most absurd manner. I could have forgiven the bitterness 
of his persecution of me, had it not been that I was myself 
bitterly roused at the ill-behaviour of my friend, w T hom up to 
that time I had highly esteemed.” 

“Ah! one has always to suffer from one’s friends,” 
rejoined Baraja, sending up a puff of smoke from his corn- 
husk cigarette. 

“Well — one thing,” said Cuchillo, “the result of it all 
is that I have made a vow never to play another card ; for 
the cards, as you see, were the original cause of this ugly 
affair.” 

“ A good resolution,” said Baraja, “ and just such as I 
have come to myself. I have promised never to touch 
another card : they have cost me a fortune — in fact, alto- 
gether ruined me.” 

“ Ruined you ? you have been rich then ?” 

“ Alas ! I had a splendid estate — a hacienda de ganados 
(cattle farm) with a numerous flock upon it. I had a lawyer 
for my intendant , who took care of the estate while I spent 
my time in town. But when I came to settle accounts with 
this fellow I found I had let them run too long. I discovered 
that half my estate belonged to him !” 

“ What did you do then ?” 

“ The only thing I could do,” answered Baraja, with the 
air of a cavalier, “was to stake my remaining half against 
his on a game, and let the winner take the whole.” 


TWO HONEST GENTLEMEN. 


51 


u Did he accept this proposal ?” 

“ After a fashion.” 

“ What fashion ?” 

u Why, you see I am too timid when I play in presence of 
company, and certain to lose. I prefer, therefore, to play in 
the open air, and in some quiet corner of the woods. There 
I feel more at my ease ; and if I should lose — considering 
that it was my whole fortune that was at stake — I should not 
expose my chagrin to the whole world. These were the 
considerations that prompted me to propose the conditions 
of our playing alone.” 

“ And did the lawyer agree to your conditions ?” 

“ Not a bit of it.” 

“ What a droll fellow he must have been !” 

“ He would only play in the presence of witnesses.” 

“ And you were forced to his terms ?” 

“ To my great regret, I was.” 

“ And of course you lost — being so nervous in presence of 
company ?” 

“ I lost the second half of my fortune as I had done the 
first. The only thing I kept back was the horse you see, 
and even him my ex-intendant insisted upon having as part 
of the bet. To-day I have no other hope than to make my 
fortune in this Tubac expedition, and if I should do so I may 
get back, and settle accounts with the knave. After that 
game, however, I swore I should never play another card ; 
and, carramba ! I have kept my oath.” 

“ How long since this happened ?” 

“ Five days.” 

“The devil!— You deserve * credit for keeping your 
word.” 

The two adventurers after having exchanged these confi- 
dences, began to talk over their hopes founded on the ap- 
proaching expedition — of the marvellous sights that they 


C '2 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


wo aid be likely to see — but more especially of the dangers 
that might have to be encountered. 

“ Bah !” said Baraja, speaking of these ; “ better to die 
than live wearing a coat out at elbows.” 

Cuchillo was of the same opinion. 

Meanwhile the sun was growing hotter and hotter. A 
burning wind began to blow through the trees, and the 
horses of the two travellers, suffering from thirst, uttered 
their plaintive neighings. The men themselves sought out 
the thickest shade to protect them from the fervid rays of 
the sun, and for awhile both observed a complete silence. 

Baraja was the first to resume the conversation. 

“ You may laugh at me, Senor Cuchillo,” said he, fanning 
himself with his felt hat, 44 but to say the truth the time 
appears very long to me when I am not playing.” 

44 The same with myself,” hastily responded Cuchillo. 

44 What do you say to our staking, on word of honour, a 
little of that gold we are going to find ?” 

44 Just what I was thinking myself, but I daren’t propose 
it to you ; — I am quite agreeable.” 

Without further parley each of the two thrust a hand 
into his pocket, and drew forth a pack of cards — with which, 
notwithstanding the oath they had taken, both were pro- 
vided. 

The play was about to commence, when the sound of a 
bell, and the clattering of hoofs at a distance, announced the 
approach, most probably, of the important personage whom 
Cuchillo awaited. 


THE SENATOR TRAGADUROS. 


63 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SENATOR TRAGADUROS. 

The two players suspended operations, and turned theil 
faces in the direction whence came the sounds. 

At some distance along the road, a cloud of dust suddenly 
rising, indicated the approach of a troop of horses. 

They were without riders. One only was mounted ; and 
that was ridden by the driver of the troop. In short, it was 
a remuda — such as rich travellers in the north of Mexico 
usually take along with them for a remount. These horses, 
on account of the half- wild life they lead upon the vast plains 
where they are pastured, after a gallop of twenty leagues 
without carrying a rider, are almost as fresh as if just taken 
out of the stable. On long routes, eaclj is saddled and 
mounted at regular intervals ; and in this way a journey is 
performed almost as rapidly as by a mail express, with 
relays already established. 

According to usual custom, a bell-mare preceded this 
drove, which appeared to consist of about thirty horses. It 
was this bell that had first attracted the attention of the 
players. 

When within a hundred yards or so of the huts, the driver 
of the remuda galloped to the front, and catching the bell- 
mare, brought her to a stop. The other horses halted on the 
instant. 

Shortly after, five cavaliers appeared through the dust, 
riding in the direction of the huts. Two were in advance of 


64 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


the other three, who, following at a little distance were act 
ing as attendants or servants. 

The most distinguished looking of the two who rode in 
advance, was a man of somewhat over medium height. He 
appeared to have passed the age of forty. A greyish-coloured 
sombrero , with broad brim, screened his face from the fervent 
sun-beams. He was habited in a pelisse, or dolman , of dark 
blue, richly laced with gold, and almost concealed under a 
large white kerchief, embroidered with sky-blue silk, and 
known in Mexico as pano de sol. Under the fiery atmos- 
phere, the white colour of this species of scarf, like the bur- 
nous of the Arabs, serves to moderate the rays of the sun, 
and for this purpose was it worn by the cavalier in question. 
Upon his feet were boots of yellow Cordovan leather, and 
over these, large spurs, the straps of which were stitched 
with gold and silver wire. These spurs, with their huge 
five-pointed rowels, and little bells, gave out a silvery clink- 
ing that kept time to the march of the horse — sounds most 
agreeable to the ear of the Mexican cavalier o. 

A mango , richly slashed with gold lace, hung over the 
pommel of the saddle in front of the horseman, half covering 
with its folds a pair of wide pantaloons, garnished through- 
out their whole length with buttons of filigree gold. In fine, 
the saddle, embroidered like the straps of the spurs, com- 
pleted a costume that, in the eyes of an European, would 
recall the souvenirs of the middle ages. For all that, the 
horseman in question did not require a rich dress to give him 
an air of distinction. There was that in his bearing and 
physiognomy that denoted a man accustomed to command, 
and perfectly au fait to the w r orld. 

His companion, much younger, was dressed with far more 
pretension ; but his insignificant figure, though not wanting 
in a certain degree of elegance, was far from having the aris- 
tocratic appearance of him with the embroidered kerchief 


THE SENATOR TRAGADUROS. 


65 


The three servants that followed — with faces blackened by 
dust and sun, and half savage figures — carried long lances, 
adorned with scarlet pennons, and lazos hung coiled from the 
pommels of their saddles. These strange attendants gave to 
the group that singular appearance peculiar to a cavalcade 
of Mexican travellers. Several mules, pack laden, and carry- 
ing enormous valises, followed in the rear. These valises 
contained provisions and the menage necessary for a halt. 

On seeing Cuchillo and Baraja, the foremost of the two 
cavaliers halted, and the troop followed his example. 

“ ’Tis the Senor Don Estevan,” said Baraja, in a subdued 
voice. “ This is the man, senor,” he continued, presenting 
Cuchillo to the cavalier with the pano de sol. 

Don Estevan — for it was he — fixed upon Cuchillo a pierc- 
ing glance, that appeared to penetrate to the bottom of his 
soul, at the same time the look denoted a slight expression 
of surprise. 

“I have the honour to kiss the hands of your excellency,” 
said Cuchillo. “ As you see, it is I who ” 

But in spite of his habitual assurance, the outlaw paused., 
trembling as vague souvenirs began to shape themselves in 
his memory ; for these two men had met before, though not 
for a very long time. 

“ Eh ! if I don’t deceive myself,” interrupted the Spaniard, 
in an ironical tone, “ the Senor Cuchillo and I are old 
acquaintances — though formerly I knew him by a different 
name ?” 

“ So too your excellency, who was then called ” 

Arechiza frowned till the hairs of his black moustache 
seemed to stand on end. The outlaw did not finish his speech. 
He saw that it was not the time to tell what he knew ; but 
this species of complicity appeared to restore him to his 
wonted assurance. 

Cuchillo was, in truth, one of those gentlemen who have 


06 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


.he ill lack to give to whatever name they bear a pi ompt 
celebrity ; and for this reason he had changed his more than 
once. 

“ Senor Senator,” said Arechiza, turning towards his com - 
pagnon de voyage , “ this place does not appear very suitable 
for our noon siesta ?” 

“The Senor Tragaduros y Despilfarro, will find the shade 
of one of these cottages more agreeable,” interposed Cuchillo, 
who knew the senator of Arispe. He knew, moreover, that 
the latter had attached himself to the fortunes of Don Este- 
van, in default of better cause : and in hopes of repairing his 
own fortune, long since dissipated. 

Despite the low state of his finances, however, the Senator 
had not the less a real influence in the congress of Sonora ; 
and it was this influence which Don Estevan intended using 
to his own advantage. Hence the companionship that now 
existed between them. 

“ I agree with all my heart to your proposal,” answered 
Tragaduros, “ the more so that we have now been nearly five 
hours in the saddle.” 

Two of the servants dismounting, took their masters* 
horses by the bridle, while the other two looked after the 
cargas of the mules. The camp-beds were taken from the 
pack saddles, and carried into two of the houses that appeared 
the most spacious and proper. 

We shall leave the Senator reclining upon his mattress, to 
enjoy that profound slumber which is the portion of just 
men and travellers ; while we accompany Don Estevan into 
the hut which he had chosen for himself, and which stood at 
some distance from that occupied by the legislator. 


THE COMPACT. 




CHAPTER IX. 

THE COMPACT. 

After having followed Don Estevan, at the invitation ot 
the latter, inside the hovel, Cuchillo closed behind him the 
wattle of bamboos that served as a door. He did this with 
great care — as if he feared that the least noise should be 
heard without — and then he stood waiting for the Spaniard 
to initiate the conversation. 

The latter had seated himself on the side of his camp-bed- 
stead, and Cuchillo also sat down, using for his seat the skull 
of a bullock, — which chanced to be in the house. It is the 
ordinary stool of this part of the country, where the luxury 
of chairs is still unknown — at least in the houses of the poor. 

“ I suppose,” said Arechiza, breaking silence, “ that you 
have a thousand reasons why I should know you by no other 
than your present name. I, with motives very different from 
yours, no doubt, desire to he here nothing more than Don 
Estevan Arechiza. Now! Senor Cuchillo,” continued the 
speaker with a certain affectation of mockery ; “ let us have 
this grand secret that is to make your fortune and mine !” 

“ A word first, Seiior Don Estevan de Arechiza,” replied 
Cuchillo, in the same tone ; “ one word, and then you shall 
have it.” 

“I listen to you; but observe, sir, say nothing of the past 
— no more perfidy. We are here in a country where there 
Are trees , and you know how I punish traitors.” 

At this allusion to some past event — no doubt some mys- 
terious souvenir — the face of tho outlaw became livid. 


08 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“Yes,” replied he, “I remember that it is not your fault 
that I was not hung to a tree. It may be more prudent not 
to recall old wrongs — especially as you are no longer in a 
conquered country, but in one of forests — forests both sombre 
and dumb.” 

There was in this response of the outlaw such an evident 
air of menace, that, joined with his character and sinister 
antecedents, it required a firm heart on the part of Don 
Estevan not to regret having recalled the souvenir. With a 
cold smile he replied : 

“ Ha ! another time I shall entrust the execution of a traitor 
in the hands of no human being. I shall perform that office 
myself,” continued he, fixing upon Cuchillo a glance which 
caused the latter to lower his head. “ As to your threats, 
reserve them for people of your own kind ; and never forget, 
that between my breast and your dagger there is an insur- 
mountable barrier.” 

“Who knows?” muttered Cuchillo, dissembling the anger 
which was devouring him. Then in a different tone, he con- 
tinued: “But I am no traitor, Seiior Don Estevan ; and the 
proposal I am now about to make to you is frank and loyal. 

“We shall see, then.” 

“ Know, then, Senor Arechiza, that for several years past 
I have followed the profession of a gambusino , and have 
rambled over most of this country in the exercise of my call- 
ing. I have seen a deposit of gold such as mortal eye per- 
haps never looked upon !” 

“ You have seen it, and not possessed yourself of it ?” 

“Do not mock me, Don Estevan ; I am in earnest. I have 
seen a placer so rich that the man who gets it might for a 
whole year play the game of hell with luck all the while 
against him, and not be impoverished ? So rich as to satisfy 
the most insatiable avarice ; so rich, in fact, as to buy a king 
dom !” 


THE COMPACT. 


69 

At these words, which responded to some hopes and de- 
sires already conceived, Don Estevan could not hinder him- 
self from the manifestation of a certain emotion. 

“So rich,” continued the outlaw, in an exalted tone, “that 
I would not hesitate for one instant to give my soul to the 
devil in exchange for it.” 

“ The devil is not such a fool as to value so highly a soul 
which he knows he will get gratis. But how did you dis- 
cover this placer f n 

“Thus, senor. There was a gambusino called Marcos 
Arellanos, who was celebrated throughout the whole pro- 
vince. It was he who discovered this bonanza in company 
with another of the same calling as himself; but just as they 
were about to gather some of the gold, they were attacked 
by the Apache Indians. The associate of Marcos Arellanos 
was killed, and he himself had to run a thousand risks before 
he succeeded in making his escape. 

“ It was after he came home again that by chance I met 
him at Tubac. There he proposed to me to join him, and go 
back to the placer. I accepted his offer, and we started. 
We arrived safely at the Golden Valley , for by that name 
he called the place. Powers of Heaven!” exclaimed 
Cuchillo, “ it only needed to see those blocks of gold shining 
in the sun to bring before one’s eyes a thousand dazzling 
visions ! 

“ Alas ! we were only permitted to feast our eyes. The 
savages were upon us. W e were compelled to fly in our 
turn, and I alone escaped. Poor Marcos ! he fell under the 
horrible war clubs ; and I — I have sorely grieved for him ! 
Now, senor, ibis is the secret of the Golden Valley which I 
desire to sell to you.” 

“To sell to me : — and who is to answer for your fidelity?” 

“ My own interest. I sell you the secret, but I do not 
intend to alienate my rights to the placer, I have vainly 


10 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


endeavoured to get up an expedition such as yours, for with- 
out a strong force it would be of no use going there. It 
would be certain death to a party of only two or three. 
With your band, however, it will be easy, and success would 
be certain. I only ask the tenth part of all the gold that 
may be gathered, which I would deserve as guide of the ex- 
pedition ; and going as guide I will be at the same time a 
hostage for my good faith.” 

“ Is that what I am to understand ; you estimate the 
price of your secret and services a tenth part of the whole ?” 

“That and two hundred dollars paid down to enable me to 
equip myself for the expedition.” 

“ You are more reasonable than I expected, Cuchillo. Y ery 
well, then let it be so ; the two hundred dollars you shall have, 
and I promise you the tenth part.” 

“ Agreed.” 

“Agreed, and you have my word upon it. Now, answer 
me some questions which I wish to put. Is this Golden Val- 
ley in that part of the country where I intended to have taken 
my expedition?” 

“ It is beyond the Presidio of Tubac ; and since your men 
are to meet there you will not need to make any change in 
the dispositions you have already taken.” 

“ Good. And you have seen this Golden Valley you say 
with your own eyes ?” 

“ I have seen it without the power of touching it. I have 
seen it grinding my teeth as I looked upon it, like the damned 
in hell who get a glimpse of Paradise.” 

As Cuchillo spoke, his countenance betrayed beyond 
doubt the anguish he felt, at his cupidity having been 
baulked. 

Arechiza knew too well how to read the human physiog- 
nomy to doubt the truth of Cuchillo’s report. Two hundred 
dollars were to him a mere bagatelle ; and taking an ebony 


THE COMPACT. 


11 


cast from his bed, small but heavy, he drew from it a rouleau 
of gold pieces and handed them to the gambusino, who im- 
mediately put them in his pocket. 

There was a little more in the rouleau than had been bar- 
gained for. The Spaniard took no notice of this, but form- 
ing a cross with his thumb and index finger of his right hand, 
d la mode JEspagnole , he held it before Cuchillo, directing 
him to make an oath upon it. 

“I swear by the cross,” said the latter, “to speak the 
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. At the 
end of ten days’ journey beyond Tubac, going in a north- 
western direction, we shall arrive at the foot of a range of 
mountains. They are easy to recognize — for a thick vapor 
hangs over them both night and day. A little river traverses 
this range of hills. It is necessary to ascend it to a point 
where another stream runs into it. There in the angle 
where the two meet, is a steep hill, the summit of which is 
crowned by the tomb of an Indian chief. I was not near 
enough to distinguish the strange ornaments that surround 
this tomb ; but at the foot of the hill there is a small lake by 
the side of a narrow valley in which the water from rain tor- 
rents has thrown to the surface immense treasures of gold, 
this is the Golden Valley .” 

“ The way will be easily found ?” inquired Don Estevan. 

“But difficult to travel,” replied Cuchillo. “The arid 
deserts will be no obstacle compared with the danger from 
the hostility of Indians. This tomb of one of their most cele- 
brated chiefs they hold in superstitious veneration. It is the 
constant object of their pilgrimages, and it was during one 
of these visits that we were surprised. Arellanos and my- 
self.” 

“ And this Arellanos — do you think he has not revealed 
this secret to any one besides yourself?” 

w You must know,” replied Cuchillo, “ that it is a custom 


72 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


of the gambusinos, before starting upon any expedition, to 
swear before the Holy Evangelists not to reveal the bonanzas 
they may find without the consent of their associates. This 
oath Arellanos took, and his death of course prevented him 
from betraying it.” 

“You have said that after his return from his first expedi- 
tion, you met him in Tubac. Was there no woman whom he 
may perchance have had in his confidence ?” 

“His wife only — he may have told it to her. But 
yesterday a vaquero gave me the news that she has lately 
died. For all that, she may have revealed the secret to her 
son.” 

“ Arellanos had a son then ?” 

“ An adopted son — a young man whose father or mother 
no one knows anything about.” 

Don Estevan could not repress an involuntary movement. 

“ This young fellow is, no doubt, the son of some 
poor devil of this province ?” said the Spaniard, in a care- 
less way. 

“ No,” replied Cuchillo, “ he was born in Europe, and very 
likely in Spain.” 

Arechiza appeared to fall into a reverie, his head bend- 
ing towards his breast. Some souvenirs were disturbing his 
spirit. 

“This much at least is known,” continued Cuchillo. 
“ The commander of an English brig-of-war brought him to 
Guaymas. He stated that the child, who spoke both French 
and Spanish, had been captured in an affair between the brig 
and a French privateer. A sailor who was either killed in 
the fight or taken prisoner, was beyond doubt his father. 
The captain of the English brig, not knowing what to do 
with him, gave him to Arellanos — who chanced to be in 
Guaymas at the time — and Arellanos brought him up and 
has made a man of him — my faith ! that he has. Young as 


THE COMPACT. 


73 


the fellow is, there is not such a rastreador nor horse-tamer 
in the province.” 

The Spaniard, while apparently not listening to Cuchillo, 
did not lose a word of what he was saying ; hut whether he 
had heard enough, or that the subject was a painful one, he 
suddenly interrupted the gambusino : 

“ And don’t you think, if this wonderful tracker and horse- 
breaker has been told the secret of his adopted father he 
might not be a dangerous rival to us ?” 

Cuchillo drew himself up proudly, and replied : — 

“ I know a man who will yield in nothing — neither at fol- 
lowing a trail, nor taming a wild horse — to Tiburcio 
Arellanos ; and yet this secret has been almost worthless in 
his keeping, since he has just sold it for the tenth part of its 
value !” 

This last argument of Cuchillo’s was sufficiently strong to 
convince Don Estevan that the Golden Yalley was so 
guarded by these fierce Indians that nothing but a strong 
party could reach it — in short, that he himself was the only 
man who could set this force afoot. For awhile he remained 
in his silent reverie. The revelations of Cuchillo in regard 
to the adopted son of Marcos Arellanos had opened his mind 
to a new set of ideas which absorbed all others. For certain 
motives, which we cannot here explain, he was seeking to 
divine whether this Tiburcio Arellanos was not the youpg 
Fabian de Mediana ! 

Cuchillo on his part was reflecting on certain antece- 
dents relative to the gambusino Arellanos and his adopted 
son ; but for powerful reasons he did not mention his 
reflections to Don Estevan. There are reasons, how- 
ever, why the reader should now be informed of their 
nature. 

The outlaw, as we have said, frequently changed his name. 
It was by one of these aliases used up so quickly, that he had 

4 


74 


THE WOOD-RANGEKS. 


been passing, when at the Presidio Tubac he made the ac- 
quaintance of the unfortunate Arellanos. When the latter 
was about starting out on his second and fatal journey — 
before parting with his wife and the young man whom he 
loved as well as if be had been his own son — he confided to 
his wife the object of his new expedition ; and also the full 
particulars of the route he intended to take. Cuchillo was 
nevertheless ignorant of this revelation. But the knowledge 
which the outlaw carefully concealed, w r as that he himself, 
after having reached the Golden Valley guided by Arellanos, 
murdered his companion, in hope of having all the treasure 
to himself. It was true enough that the Indians appeared 
afterwards, and it was with difficulty that the assassin could 
save his own scalp. We shall now leave him to tell his own 
story as to how he made the acquaintance of young Arellanos, 
and it will be seen that this story is a mere deception prac- 
tised upon Don Estevan. 

“ Nevertheless,” resumed Cuchillo in breaking the silence, 
“ I was determined to free my mind from all doubt upon the 
subject. On my return to Arispe I repaired to the dwel- 
ling of the widow of Arellanos to inform her of the death 
of poor Marcos. But with the exception of the great grief 
which the news caused her, I observed nothing particular — 
nothing that could give me the least suspicion that I am not 
the sole possessor of the secret of the Golden Valley.” 

“ One easily believes what he wishes to believe,” remarked 
Arechiza. 

“ Hear me, Senor Don Estevan ! There are two things 
on wffiich I pride myself. One is, that I have a conscience 
easily alarmed ; the other, that I am gifted with a perspi- 
cuity not easily deluded.” 

The Spaniard made no further objections. lie was satis- 
fied, not with the outlaw’s conscience, but his perspicuity. 

With regard to Tiburcio Arellanos, we need hardly state 


THE AFTERNOON RIDE. 


1 5 


what the reader has no doubt already divined — that this 
young man was in reality no other than Fabian, the last des- 
cendant of the Counts of Mediana. Cuchillc has already 
related how the English brig brought him to Guaymas. 
Left without a guide to enable him to discover his family — 
disinherited of his rich patrimonial estates — an orphan know- 
ing nothing of his parents, here he was in a strange land, 
the possessor of nothing more than a horse and a hut of 
bamboos. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE AFTERNOON RIDE. 

When Cuchillo, after the interview just described, came 
forth from the hovel, the sun was no longer in the vertex of 
the heavens, but had commenced his downward course to the 
western horizon. The earth, burned up and dry as tinder, 
gave forth a thin vapoury mist, that here and there hung 
over the surface in condensed masses, giving that appearance 
known as the mirage. Limpid lakes presented themselves 
to the eye, where not a drop of water was known to exist — as 
if nature, to preserve a perfect harmony, offered these to the 
imagination in compensation for the absence of the precious 
fluid itself. Far off in the forest, could be heard at inter- 
vals the crackling of branches under the burning rays of the 
sun — j U st as if the woods were on fire. But the trees were 
beginning to open their leaves to the southern breeze that 
freshened as the hours passed on, and they appeared impa- 
tiently to await the twilight, when the night-dews would 
Once more freshen their foliage. 

Cuchillo gave a whistle, at which well-known signal hi* 


76 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


horse came galloping up to him. The poor beast appeared 
to suffer terribly from the thirst. His master, moved with 
pity, poured into a bowl a few drops of water from his skin 
bottle ; and although it was scarce enough to moisten the 
animal’s lips, it seemed to bring back the vigour of his spirit. 

Cuchillo having saddled and bridled his horse, and 
buckled on a pair of huge spurs, called one of the attendants 
of Don Estevan. To this man he gave orders to have the 
pack of mules harnessed, as well as to collect the remuda to 
be sent on in advance — in order that the sleeping quarters 
for the night should be ready upon their arrival. The place 
where the travellers were to rest that night — as Cuchillo 
informed the domestic — was to be at the cistern known as 
La Poza. 

“ But La Poza is not on the route to Tubac !” objected 
the servant ; “ it lies out of the way and on the road leading 
to the Hacienda del Yenado .” 

“ You have nothing to do with the route,” peremptorily 
answered Cuchillo, “ your master intends spending some 
days at the Hacienda del Yenado. Therefore do as I have 
ordered you.” 

The Hacienda del Yenado was the most important estate 
between Arispe and the Indian frontier, and its proprietor 
had the reputation of being the most hospitable man in the 
whole province. It was, therefore without repugnance that 
the attendants of Don Estevan heard this news from Cuchillo 
— since, although their route of march would be extended 
in making the detour by the Hacienda del Yenado, they 
knew they would enjoy several days of pleasant repose at 
this hospitable mansion. 

The man to whom Cuchillo had given his orders, imme- 
diately saddled his horse and set off to collect the remuda . 
He soon discovered the horses browsing in the woods near at 
hand, and collected, as usual, around the bell-mare. 


THE AFTERNOON RIDE. 


71 


As he approached, the troop bounded off in affright — -just 
as wild horses would have done ; but the active horseman 
was too quick for them, for already the running noose of his 
lazo was around the neck of one of them. The horse per* 
ceiving that he was caught, and knowing well the lazo — 
whose power he had often felt — yielded without resistance, 
and permitted himself to be led quietly away. The capitana 
(bell-mare) knew the signal and followed the horse of the 
servant, with all the others trooping at her heels. 

Two of the freshest of the drove were left behind, for Don 
Estevan and the Senator. These would be enough to serve 
them as far as La Poza — the place of their intended night 
halt — which was only a few hours distant. The other horses, 
guided by the bell-mare, were taken on in advance, and the 
drove soon disappeared behind the cloud of dust thrown up 
by their hoofs. 

Shortly after, the Senator made his appearance at the door 
of the hut where he had taken his siesta — a necessity almost 
imperious in these hot climates. At the same time, Don 
Estevan presented himself in the open air. The atmosphere, 
though a little fresher than when they had gone inside, was 
still sufficiently stifling to be disagreeable. 

“Carramba!” cried the Senator, after inhaling a few 
mouthfuls of it, “it is fire, not air, one has to breathe here. 
If these hovels were not a complete nest of snakes and scor- 
pions, I should prefer staying in them until night, rather than 
launch myself into this dreadful furnace.” 

After this doleful speech the Senator climbed reluctantly 
into his saddle, and he and Don Estevan took the route, 
riding side by side, as in the morning. Behind, at a few 
paces distance, followed Cuchillo amd Baraja, and after these 
the little recua of mules with the other domestics. 

For the first hour of their march the shade of the trees 
rend3red the heat supportable, but soon the forest ended, and 


THE WOOD RANGERS. 


Y8 

the road debouched upon the open plains that appeared inter 
mi liable. 

It is hardly possible to conceive a more dreary prospect 
than that presented by those arid plains of Northern Mexico 
— naked, white, and almost destitute of vegetation. Here 
and there at long distances on the route, may be seen a tall 
pole which denotes the presence of some artificial well — a 
cistern — but as you draw near, the leathern buckets by which 
the water is to be raised, show by their stiff contracted out- 
lines that for a long time they have held no water, and that 
the well is dried up — a sad fortune for the traveller whose 
evil star has guided him into these deserts during the dry 
season, especially if at the end of his day’s journey he 
reckons on a supply from these treacherous depositaries. If 
his canteen is not well filled, or if he is by any chance 
detained upon his route, his story is likely to be that of 
hundreds who have perished of thirst upon these plains, 
between a heaven and an earth that are equally un- 
pitying. 

“ Is it true, then, Don Estevan,” inquired the Senator, as 
he wiped the perspiration from his brow, “that you have 
been through this country before ?” 

“ Certainly,” replied Don Estevan ; “and it is just because 
I have been here before that I am here now. But w’hat 
brought me here formerly, and why I now return, is a secret 
I shall tell you presently. Let me say that it is a secret suffi- 
cient to turn a man’s brain, provided he is not one with a 
bold, firm heart. Are you that man, senor Senator?” added 
the Spaniard, fixing his eyes upon his companion, with a. calm 
regard. 

The Senator made no reply, farther than by giving a slight 
shiver that was perceptible through his frame, and which 
denoted that he felt some apprehension as to the role he 
might be called upon to play. 


TIIE AFTERNOON RIDE. 


79 


The Spaniard did not foil to observe his uneasiness, as he 
resumed : 

“Meanwhile, senor, let me ask you, are you decided 
to follow my advice, and restore your fortunes by some 
rich matrimonial alliance which I shall arrange for you ?” 

“Without doubt I am,” replied the Senator, “though I 
can’t see what interest that can be to you, Senor Don 
Estevan.” 

“ That is my affair and my secret. I am not one of those 
who sell the skin of the bear before the animal is caught. It 
is enough for you to know, Don Vicente Tragaduros y Des- 
pilfarro, that I have a hundred thousand dollars at your dis- 
posal the moment you say the word — it only remains for you 
to hear my conditions, and subscribe to them.” 

“I don’t say no,” replied the Senator, “but I candidly 
avow that for the life of me I cannot think of any one pos- 
sessing such an inheritance as you mention — not one in the 
whole province.” 

“ Do you know the daughter of the rich landowner Augusta 
Pena — at whose hacienda, please God, we shall sleep to-mor- 
row night ?” 

“Oh!” exclaimed the Senator, the proprietor of the 
Hacienda del Venado? I have heard of her — her dowry 
should be a million if report speaks true ; but what folly it 
would be for me to pretend ” 

“ Bah]^,’ interrupted the Spaniard. “ It is a fortress that 
well besieged may capitulate like any other.” 

“ It is said that the daughter of Pena is pretty.” 

“ Beautiful.” 

“You know her then?” said the Senator, regarding his 
companion with an astonished look. “ Perhaps,” he added, 
“ it is to the hacienda of Venado that you make those 
periodical and mysterious journeys, so much talked about at 
Arispe ?” 


80 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Precisely *so.” 

“ Ah ! I understand you,” said the Senator, turning a si} 
look upon his companion, “ it was the beautiful eyes of the 
daughter that attracted you, the — ?” 

“You are mistaken. It was the father, who was simply 
the banker from whom, from time to time, I drew the funds 
necessary for my expenses at Arispe.” 

“Is that also the object of our present journey ?” 

“Partly,” replied the Spaniard, “but not altogether — 
there is another object, which I will communicate to you 
hereafter.” 

“Well, seiior,” answered the Senator, “you are a mystery 
to me from head to foot; but I abandon myself blindly to 
your guidance.” 

“You do well,” said Don Estevan, “ and in all likelihood 
your sun, for a while eclipsed, will shine out again with more 
than its former splendour.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

AN UNFORTUNATE TRAVELLER. 

It was now near sunset; the travellers were still about 
two leagues from La Poza, and the desert plains were nearly 
passed. Some mezquite trees appeared in front thinly cover- 
ing the calcareous soil, but the twilight sun began to render 
less visible the objects here and there scattered over the 
plain. 

All at once the horse of Don Estevan came to a stand, and 
showed signs of affright. The steed of the Senator acted in 


AN UNFORTUNATE TRAVELLER. 


81 


a similar fashion, though neither of the two horsemen could 
perceive the cause of this strange behaviour. 

“ It is the body of some dead mule ?” suggested the Mexi* 
can. 

Don Estevan spurred his horse forward, despite the repug- 
nance of the animal to advance ; and a few paces further on, 
behind a clump of wild aloe plants, he perceived the body of a 
horse stretched out upon the sand. Such a sight in these dry 
plains is by no means uncommon ; and the travellers would 
not have given a moment’s thought to it, but for the fact 
that the horse in question appeared to be saddled and bridled. 
This circumstance indicated some extraordinary occurrence. 

Cuchillo had meanwhile ridden forward to the spot. 

“ Ah !” said he, after glancing a moment at the dead horse, 
“ the poor devil who has ridden him has met with a double 
accident : he has not only lost his horse, but also his water- 
bottle. See !” 

The guide pointed to an object lying upon the ground by 
the shoulder of the fallen horse, and still attached by a strap 
to the saddle. It was a leathern water-bottle apparently 
broken and empty. In fact, its position proved that the 
horse, enfeebled by the heat and thirst, had fallen suddenly 
to the earth, and the bottle, hardened by the sun, and coming 
in contact with the animal’s shoulder, had got crushed either 
by the fall, or in the struggle that succeeded it. A large 
fracture was visible in the side of the vessel, through which 
the water had escaped to the very last drop. 

“We are likely enough by and by to stumble upon his 
owner:” suggested Cuchillo, while he examined the trappings 
of the dead horse, to see if there might be anything worth 
picking up. “ For Dios /” he continued, “ this reminds me 
that T have the very devil’s thirst myself,” and as he said this, 
he raised his own bottle to his head, and swallowed some 
gulps from it. 


82 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


The tracks of a man upon the sandy surface, indicated that 
the traveller had continued his route on foot ; but the foot- 
marks showed also, that he must have tottered rather than 
walked. They were unequally distant from each other, and 
wanted that distinctness of shape, that would have been exhi- 
bited by the footsteps of a man standing properly on his legs. 

These points did not escape the keen eyes of Cuchilio, who 
was one of those individuals who could read such dumb signs 
with an unfailing certainty. 

“ Beyond a doubt,” said he, taking another gulp from his 
bottle, “the traveller cannot be far off.” 

His conjecture proved correct. A few moments after, the 
body of a man was seen by the side of the path, lying upon 
the ground, and perfectly motionless. As if this individual 
had intended that his countenance should be hidden from the 
eyes of any one passing, a broad palm-leaf hat covered the 
whole of his face. 

The costume of this traveller in distress, betrayed a certain 
degree of poverty. Besides the hat already mentioned, 
which appeared old and battered, a rusty-coloured Indian 
shirt, somewhat torn, and a pair of pantaloons of nankeen, 
with common filigree buttons, appeared to be his only gar- 
ments. At least they were all that could be noticed in the 
obscure twilight. 

“ Benito,” said Don Estevan, calling to one of his servants, 
“ knock off with the butt of your lance the hat that covers 
this man’s face — perhaps he is only asleep ?” 

Benito obeyed the order, and tossed aside the hat without 
dismounting ; but the man stretched on the ground did not 
appear to know what had been done — at least he made not 
the slightest movement. 

When the hat was removed, however, the darkness, which 
had suddenly increased, rendered it impossible to distinguish 
his features. 


AN UNFORTUNATE TRAVELLER. 


8 $ 

u Although it is not exactly your speciality, Senor 
Cuchillo,” said Don Estevan, addressing himself to the out- 
law, u if you will do an act of humanity in trying to save the 
life of this poor devil, you shall have half an ounce of gold 
if you succeed.” 

“Cospita! Senor Don Estevan,” cried Cuchillo, “you 
eurely mistake my character. I am the most humane of 
mortals — that is,” continued he in an under tone, “ when it 
is my interest to be so. You may ride forward then; and 
it will not be my fault, if I don’t bring this poor fellow safe 
to our halting place at La Poza.” 

In saying these words Cuchillo dismounted, and laying his 
hands upon the neck of his horse, cried out: 

“Now good Tordillo, don’t budge an inch from this spot 
till I call for you.” 

The animal, pawing the sand, and champing his bit, 
appeared to comprehend the words of his master, and 
remained in the place where he had been left. 

“ Shall we leave one of the servants to assist you ?” inquired 
the Senator, as they were riding off. 

“ No, thank you, Senor Don Vicente,” responded Cuchillo, 
fearing that if any one was left he might expect some share 
in the promised demi-onza ; “it will not be necessary.” 

And the cavalcade riding off, left the outlaw alone with 
the recumbent body. 


84 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


CHAPTER XII. 

TIBUECIO ARELLANOS. 

Cuchillo approaching the body, bent down to examine 
the features, and see if there were any signs of life. At the 
first glance of that face the outlaw trembled. 

“ Tiburcio Arellanos, as I live!” he involuntarily muttered. 

It was, in truth, the adopted son of his victim whom he 
saw before him. 

“Yes — there is no mistake — it is he! Santa Virgen! if 
not dead he’s not far off it,” continued he, observing the 
mortal paleness of the young man’s countenance. 

A hellish thought at this moment arose in the mind of the 
outlaw. Perhaps the only man in all the world who shared 
with him that secret, which he himself had purchased by the 
crime of murder, was there before him — completely in his 
power. It only needed to finish him, if not already dead, 
and to report that he could not be saved. He was in the 
middle of the desert, under the shadow of night, where no 
eye could see, and no hand could hinder; why then should 
he not make his secret secure against every contingency of 
the future ? 

All the ferocious instincts of the villain were reawakened ; 
mechanically he drew the long knife from his boot, and held 
its point over the heart of the unconscious Tiburcio. 

At that moment, a slight quivering of the limbs told that 
the latter still lived. The outlaw raised his arm, but still 
hesitated to strike the blow. 


TIBURCIO ARELLANOS. 


85 


“ It was just thus,” reflected he, “ that I stabbed the man 
he called his father — just in the same way, as he slept beside 
me, in full confidence of security. I see him now contesting 
with me for the life of this young fellow more than half gone. 
I feel at this moment the weight of his body upon my shoul- 
ders, just as I felt it when I carried him down to tho 
river.” 

And the murderer, at these thoughts, in the middle of the 
darkness and solitude, cast around him a look that betrayed 
the terror with which the souvenir still inspired him. 

That terror saved the life of Tiburcio ; for the knife was 
thrust back into its singular scabbard, and the villain, seating 
himself beside the recumbent form, thrust his hand under the 
vest of the young man, and held it over his heart to try 
whether it was still beating. 

In this attitude he remained for a short while — until satis- 
fied that Tiburcio was yet alive. Then a bright thought 
seemed to startle him ; for a voice had spoken to him from 
within, stronger than the voice of conscience. It was that of 
personal interest. Cuchillo knew the rare qualities of Tiburcio 
— his talents as a rastreador , or tracker — his daring prowess 
in Indian warfare ; and after some consideration, he resolved 
to enrol him in the expedition of Don Estevan, to which he 
would no doubt prove of great value. 

“ That will be the best plan,” said the outlaw, speaking in 
soliloquy. “ What would his life be worth to me now ? — 
Nothing: and if I wish to have it hereafter — why, then 
there will be no lack of opportunities. He cannot be other- 
wise than grateful for what I am going to do for him. But 
let me see how matters stand — of course it is thirst that is 
killing him — how lucky I have kept a little water in my can- 
teen !” 

He now opened the mouth of the dying man, and holding 
tho neck of the leathern bottle to his lips, poured some drops 


86 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


down his throat. The water produced an almost instantane 
ous re-animation, and the young man opened his eyes, but 
soon closed them again. 

“ That shows he is coming round,” muttered Cuchillo. 

Twice or thrice he repeated the operation, each time dou- 
bling the dose of water. Finally, at the end of half an hour 
or so Tiburcio was sufficiently recovered to be able to raise 
himself up, and to answer the questions put to him by the 
man who was, in reality, the preserver of his life. 

Tiburcio Arellanos was stlfPbut a young man ; but the 
sort of life he had led — solitary, and dependent on his own 
resources — had given to his judgment a precocious maturity. 
He therefore observed a degree of prudence in recounting to 
Cuchillo the death of his adopted mother, to which subject 
the outlaw had guided the conversation. 

“ During the twenty-four hours that I passed by the death- 
bed of my mother,” said Tiburcio, “ I quite forgot to attend 
to my horse ; and after all was over I closed the door of the 
cottage, where I never wished to return, and I set out upon 
this journey. The poor animal, so long neglected, became 
feeble on the second day, and fell dead under me ; and, to 
my misfortune, my water bottle was broken in the fall, and 
the water spilled upon the sand. I remained on the spot till 
thirst brought on fever, and then I strayed away : and after 
wandering about, I know not how long, I fell, as my horse 
had done, expecting never more to rise.” 

“I comprehend all that,” responded Cuchillo. “Well ! it 
is astonishing how people will regret the death of parents, 
who do not leave them the slightest inheritance !” 

Tiburcio could have told him, that on her death-bed his 
adopted mother had left him a royal, as well as a terrible 
legacy — the secret of the Golden Valley, and the vengeance 
of the murder of Marcos Arellanos. Both had been confided 
to him — the golden secret upon the especial conditions that 


TIBURCIO ARELLANOS 


81 


Tiburcio would, if necessary, spend the whole of his life in 
searching for the assassin. 

Tiburcio appeared to take no notice of Cuchillo’s last 
reflection, and perhaps his discretion proved the saving of his 
life : for had the outlaw been made sure that he was in pos- 
session of the secret of the Golden Valley, it is not likely he 
would have made any further efforts to save him, but the 
reverse. 

“ And is that a fact,” continued Cuchillo, interrogatively, 
“that with the exception of a hut which you have aban- 
doned, a horse which has dropped dead between your legs, 
and the garments you carry on your back, that Arellanos 
and his widow have left you nothing ?” 

“ Nothing but the memory of their goodness to me, and 3 
reverence for their name.” 

“ Poor Arellanos ! I was very sorry for him,” said 
Cuchillo, whose hypocrisy had here committed him to an 
unguarded act of imprudence. 

“ You knew him then ?” hastily inquired Tiburcio, with 
some show of surprise. “ He never spoke to me of you !” 

Cuchillo saw that he had made a mistake, and hastened to 
reply. 

“No, I didn’t know him personally. I have only heard 
him much spoken of as a most worthy man, and a famous 
gambusino. That is why I was sorry on hearing of his 
death. Was it not I who first apprised his widow of the unfor- 
tunate occurrence, having myself heard of it by chance ?” 

Notwithstanding the natural tone in which Cuchillo 
delivered this speech, he was one of those persons of such a 
sinister countenance, that Tiburcio could not help a certain 
feeling of suspicion while regarding it. But by little aud 
little the feeling gave way, and the young man’s thoughts 
taking another turn, he remained for some moments buried 
in a silent reverie. It was merely the result of his feeble- 


88 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


ness, though Cuchillo, ever ready to suspect evil, interpreted 
his silence as arising from a different cause. 

Just then the horse of Cuchillo began to show evident 
signs of terror, qnd the instant after, with his hair standing 
on end, he came galloping up to his master as if to seek pro- 
tection. It was the hour when the desert appears in all its 
nocturnal majesty. The howling of the jackals could be 
heard in the distance; but all at once a voice rising far 
above all the rest, appeared to give them a signal to be 
silent. It was the voice of the American lion. 

44 Do you hear it?” inquired Cuchillo of his companion. 

A howl equally loud, but of a different tone, was heard on 
the opposite side. 44 It is the puma and jaguar about to bat- 
tle for the body of your horse, friend Tiburcio, and which- 
ever one is conquered may take a fancy to revenge himself 
on us. Suppose you mount behind me, and let us be off?” 

Tiburcio followed the advice ; and notwithstanding the 
double load, the horse of Cuchillo galloped off like an arrow, 
impelled to such swift course by the growling of the fierce 
animals, that for a long time could be heard, as if they were 
following in the rear. 


A STUMBLING HORSE. 


80 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A STUMBLING HORSE. 

Far along the route these sounds accompanied the two 
riders — that is, the wailing of the jackals, mingled with the 
more fearful utterance of the great feline denizens of the 
desert. All at once, however, these noises became stilled, as 
a sound of a far different nature indicated the presence of 
some human being interfering in this scene of the desert. It 
was the crack of a gun, but with that quick sharp report 
that distinguishes the detonation of the rifle. 

“ A shot !” exclaimed Tiburcio. “ But who can be amus- 
ing himself by hunting at this time of night, and in the mid- 
dle of such a desert ?” 

“Very likely one of those American trappers we see now 
and then at Arispe, where they come to sell their beaver 
skins. These fellows think as little of a puma or a jaguar as 
they do of a jackal.” 

No other noise was afterwards heard to break the impos- 
ing silence of the night. The stars were shining brightly in 
the blue heaven, and the breeze, that had now become much 
cooler, scarce made the slightest rustling as it passed through 
the branches of the iron-wood trees. 

“ Where are you taking me ?” asked Tiburcio, after an 
interval of silence. 

“ To La Poza, where I have some companions who are to 
pass the night there. To-morrow, if you like, on to the 
hacienda of Venado.” 


90 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“To the hacienda of Venado! that is just where I wag 
going.” 

Had it been daylight, Cuchillo might have seen a blush 
suddenly redden the cheeks of the young man as he pro- 
nounced these words ; for it was an affair of the heart, that 
in spite of all the efforts he had made to resist it, was attract- 
ing him to the hacienda de Yenado. The object of his 
interest was no other than the daughter of the hacieyidado 
himself — the young heiress already spoken of. 

“ For what purpose were you going there ?” inquired 
Cuchillo, in a careless tone. 

This simple question was nevertheless difficult to be 
answered. His companion was not the man to whom the 
young gambusino could give his confidence. He hesitated 
before making reply. 

“ I am without resources,” said he at length, “ and I go to 
ask Don Augustin Pena if he will accept me in the capacity 
of one of his vaqueros .” 

“ ’Tis a poor business you wish to undertake, amigo. To 
expose your life for ever for such paltry pay as you will get 
— to keep watch at night and run about all the day; exposed 
to the burning heat of the sun, and by night to the cold — 
for this is the lot of a vaquero.” 

“ What can I do ?” replied Tiburcio. “ Besides, it is just 
the sort of life I have been accustomed to ; have I not always 
been exposed to privations and the solitude of the desert 
plains? These torn calzoneras and well worn jacket are all 
that are left me — since I have now no longer my poor horse. 
Better turn vaquero than be a beggar !” 

“He knows nothing of the secret then,” reflected 
Cuchillo, “ since he is meditating on an employment of this 
nature.” Then raising his voice:— “You are in truth, then, 
a complete orphan, amigo ; and have no one to mourn for 
you if you were to die — except myself. Have you by 


A STUMBLING DORSE. 


91 


chance heard anything of this grand expedition that is being 
organized at Tubec ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Become one of it then. To an expedition of this kind a 
resolute young fellow like you would be a valuable acquisi- 
tion ; and upon your part, an expert gambusino, such as I 
fancy you must be — from the school in which you have been 
taught — might make his fortune at a single stroke.” 

If he parry this thrust, muttered the outlaw to himself, it 
will be proof positive that he knows nothing about it. 

Cuchillo was thus pursuing his investigation with a two- 
fold object, sounding Tiburcio about the secret, while at the 
same time trying to attach him to the expedition by the 
hope of gain. But cunning as was the outlaw, he had to do 
with a party that was no simpleton. Tiburcio prudently 
remained silent. 

“Although between ourselves,” continued Cuchillo, “I 
can tell you that I have never been beyond Tubac, yet I am 
to be one of the guides of this expedition. Now what say 
you ?” 

“ I have my reasons,” replied Tiburcio, “ not to engage in 
it without reflection. I therefore demand of you twenty-four 
hours to think it over, and then you shall have my answer.” 

The expedition, of which this was the first news Tiburcio 
had heard, might, in fact, ruin or favour his own projets — • 
hence the uncertainty he felt, and which he contrived so 
cleverly to conceal by his discreet reserve. 

“ Very well,” rejoined Cuchillo, “ the thing will keep that 
long.” 

And with this the conversation was discontinued. 

Cuchillo, joyed at being disembarrassed of his apprehen- 
sion about the secret, began carelessly whistling while he 
spurred forward his horse. The greatest harmony continued 
between these two men, who, though they knew it not, had 


02 


THE WOOD-BANGERS. 


each a motive of the deadliest hatred one against the other, 
Suddenly, as they were thus riding along, the horse that 
carried them stumbled upon the left foreleg, and almost 
came to the ground. On the instant Tiburcio leaped down, 
and with eyes flashing fire, cried out in a threatening tono 
to his astonished companion. 

“You say you have never been beyond Tubac ? where 
did you get this horse, Cuchillo ?” 

“ What business of yours, where I got him ?” answered 
the outlaw, surprised by a question to which his conscience 
gave an alarming significance, “ and what has my horse to do 
with the interrogatory you have so discourteously put to me ?” 

“ By the soul of Arellanos ! I will know ; or, if not — ” 

Cuchillo gave the spur to his horse, causing him to bound 
to one side — while at the same time he attempted to 
unbuckle the straps that fastened his carbine to the saddle ; 
but Tiburcio sprang after, seized his hand, and held it while 
he repeated the question : — 

“ How long have you owned this horse ?” 

“ There, now ! what curiosity !” answered Cuchillo, with a 
forced smile, “ still, since you are so eager to know — it is — 
it is about six weeks since I became his master ; you may 
have seen me with him, perhaps ?” 

In truth it was the first time Tiburcio had seen Cuchillo 
with this horse — that, notwithstanding his bad habits of 
stumbling, was otherwise an excellent animal, and was only 
used by his master on grand occasions. For this very reason 
Tiburcio had not seen him before. 

The ready lie of the outlaw dissipated, no doubt, certain 
suspicions that had arisen in the mind of the young man, for 
the latter let go the horseman’s wrist, which up to this time 
he had held in his firm grasp. 

“ Pardon me !” said he, “ for this rudeness ; but allow me 
to ask you another question ?” 


A STUMBLING HOKSE. 


93 


“ Ask it !” said Cuchillo, tl since we are friends ; in fact, 
among friends, one question less or more can make no dif 
ference.” 

“ Who sold you this horse six weeks ago ?” 

“ Por Dios, his owner, of course — a stranger, whom I did 
not know, but who had just arrived from a long journey.” 

Cuchillo repeated these words in a slow and drawling 
manner, as if to gain time for some hidden purpose. 

“ A stranger ?” repeated Tiburcio ; “ pardon me ! one 
more question ?” 

“ Has the horse been stolen from you f” asked the outlaw 
in an ironical tone. 

“ No— but let us think no more of my folly — pardon me, 
senor!” 

“ I pardon you,” answered Cuchillo, in a tone of magna- 
nimity, “ the more so,” added he mentally, “ that you will 
not go much further, you son of a hound !” 

Tiburcio, unsuspecting, was no longer on his guard, and 
the outlaw, profiting by the darkness, had already detached 
his carbine from the saddle. In another moment, beyond 
doubt, he would have carried into execution his demoniac 
purpose, had it not been for the appearance of a horseman, 
who was coming at full gallop along the road. Besides the 
horse which he rode, the horseman led behind him another, 
saddled and bridled. He was evidently a messenger from 
Don Estevan. 

“ Ah ! is it you, Senor Cuchillo ?” he cried out, as he rode 
U P- 

“The devil!” grumbled the outlaw, at this ill-timed inter- 
ruption. “Ah! is it you, Senor Benito?” he inquired, sud- 
denly changing his tone. 

“Yes. Well, have you saved the man? Don Estevan 
has sent me back to you with a gourd of fresh water, and a 
horse to bring him on.” 


94 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“He is there,” replied Cuchillo, pointing to Tibnrcio, who 
stood at a little distance, “ thanks to me he is sound and 
safe — until I have a chance of being once more alone with 
him,” he muttered, in^, tone not intended to be heard. 

“ Well, gentlemen,” remarked the servant, “ we had better 
go on — the camping place is not far from here — we can soon 
reach it.” 

Tiburcio leaped into the empty saddle, and the three gal- 
loped silently toward the place where the travellers had 
halted — the servant thinking only of reaching it as soon as 
possible, and going to rest — Cuchillo mentally cursing the 
interruption that had forced him to adjourn his project of 
vengeance — and Tiburcio vainly endeavouring to drive out 
of his mind the suspicion which this curious incident had 
aroused. 

In this occupation the three rode on for about a quarter 
of an hour, until the gleam of fires ahead discovered the 
halting-place of the travellers at La Poza. Soon afterwards 
their camp itself was reached. 


LA POZA. 




CHAPTER XIV. 

LA P O Z A . 

The place known by the name “La Poza” was the only 
one, within a circle of many leagues, where at this time of 
the year water could be found. There was here a natural 
cistern or well — partly nourished by a spring, and partly by 
rain from the skies. It was hollowed at the bottom of a 
little crater-shaped valley, only a few paces in circumference, 
the sloping sides of which served to conduct to the well the 
rain-water that fell around. 

The ridges inclosing the little valley were crowned with 
trees of thick frondage, which, nourished by the evaporation 
of the water, appeared green and vigorous, and protected 
the cistern from the burning rays of the sun. The green 
grass that grew around, the cool shadow of the trees, and 
the freshness of the air, rendered the well of La Poza, in the 
middle of the desert, a delicious little oasis. Besides serv- 
ing as excellent resting-place for travellers, it was a favourite 
resort of hunters, who used it as a stalking-ground for 
animals — elks and deer — as well as jaguars and other fierce 
beasts that in great numbers came to the well to drink. 

At a short distance from the cistern of La Poza commenced 
a tract of thick forest through which ran the path leading to 
the Hacienda del Venado. Nearer to the edge of the little 
valley, upon the side of this path, the travellers had kindled 
an enormous fire, partly to defend themselves from the cold 
night air, and partly to frighten off any jaguars or pumas 
that might be in the neighborhood of the water. 


96 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Not far from this fire the servants had placed the camp- 
beds of the Senator and Don Estevan ; and while a large 
saddle of mutton was being roasted for supper, a skin bottle 
of wine was cooling in the fresh water with which the trough 
had been filled. 

After a painful day’s march, it was an attractive spectacle 
which this scene presented to the eyes of the travellers. 

“Mira l your halting-place, Tiburcio,” said Cuchillo, as 
they rode into the camp, and speaking in a tone of pretended 
friendliness, in order to conceal the real rancour which he 
felt. “ Dismount here, while I go and report your arrival 
to our chief. It is Don Estevan de Arechiza himself under 
whose orders we are enrolled ; so, too, may you be, if you 
desire it j and between ourselves, amigo , it is the best thing 
you can do.” 

Cuchillo fearing that his victim might escape him, now 
wished more than ever that he should join the expedition. 
He pointed out Don Estevan and the Senator seated on their 
camp-beds, and visible in the light of the great fire, while 
Tiburcio was not yet seen by them. Cuchillo himself 
advanced toward Don Estevan. 

“ I am desirous, Senor Don Estevan,” said he, addressing 
himself to the Spaniard, “ to say two words to your honour, 
with the permission of his excellency the Senator.” 

Don Estevan rose from his seat, and made a sign to 
Cuchillo to accompany him into one of the dark alleys of the 
forest, the same by which the path entered that led to the 
hacienda. 

“ You will hardly guess, Senor Don Estevan, who is the 
man your generosity has saved — for I have brought him with 
me safe and sound, as you see ?” 

Without making answer, Don Estevan took from his 
purse the piece of gold he had promised, and handed it to 
Cuchillo. 


LA TOZA. 


97 


“ It is tlie young Tiburcio Arellanos to whom you have 
given life,” continued the outlaw. “As for me I only fol- 
lowed the dictates of my heart ; but it may be that we have 
both done a very foolish action.” 

“Why that?” asked the Spaniard. “This young man 
will be easily watched so long as he is near us ; and I presume 
he is decided to be one of our expedition ?” 

“He has asked twenty-four hours to reflect upon it.” 

“ Do you think he knows anything of — ” 

“ I have my fears,” replied Cuchillo, in a melancholy tone, 
little regarding the lie he was telling, and the purpose of 
which was to render the Spaniard suspicious of the man he 
had himself vowed to kill. “ In any case,” continued he, 
with a significant smile, “ we have saved his life, and that 
will serve as tit for tat” 

“ What do you mean to say ?” 

“ Only that my conscience assures me it will be perfectly 
tranquil if — if — Carramba!” added he, brusquely — “if I 
should send this young fellow to be broiled with his mother 
in the other world.” 

“ God forbid that !” exclaimed the Spaniard, in a lively 
tone. “ What need ? Admit that he knows all : I shall be 
in command of a hundred men, and he altogether alone. 
What harm can the fellow do us ? I have no uneasiness 
about him. I am satisfied, and so must you be.” 

“ Oh ! I am satisfied if you are,” growled Cuchillo, like a 
dog whose master had hindered him from biting some one, 
“ quite satisfied,” he continued, “ but perhaps hereafter — ” 

“ I shall see this young man,” said the Spaniard, inter- 
rupting him, and advancing in the direction were Tiburcio 
stood, while Cuchillo followed, talking to himself : 

“ What the devil possessed him to ask how long I had 
owned my horse ? Let me see ! the animal stumbled, I 
remember, and it was just then he dismounted and threat- 
■* 5 


98 


THE WOOD-RANGElwj. 


er.ed me. 1 can’t understand it, but I suspect what I do not 
understand/' 

When Arechiza and Cuchillo reached the camp, an excite*, 
ment was observed among the horses, that gathered around 
the capitana , at a short distance from the fire, and to all 
appearance in a state of extreme terror, were uttering a wild 
and continuous neighing. Some danger yet afar, but which 
the animals’ instincts enabled them to perceive, was the 
cause of this sudden stampedo. 

“It is some jaguar they- have scented,” suggested one of 
the domestics. 

“ Bah !” replied another, “ the jaguars attack only young 
foals — they wouldn’t dare to assault a strong vigorous 
horse.” 

“ Do you think so ?” demanded the first speaker. “ Ask 
Benito here, who, himself, lost a valuable animal taken by 
the jaguars.” 

Benito, hearing this reference to himself, advanced towards 
the two speakers. 

“ One day,” he began, “ or rather, one night just like this, 
I chanced to be at a distance from the Hacienda del Yenado, 
where I was a vaquero at the time. I was in search of a 
strayed horse, and not finding him, had made up my mind to 
pass the night at the spring of Ojo de Agua. I tied my 
horse at a good distance off— where there w T as better grass 
— and I was sleeping, as a man sleeps after riding twenty 
leagues, when I was suddenly awakened by all the howlings 
and growlings of the devils. The moon shone so clear you 
might have fancied it daylight. All at once my horse came 
galloping toward me with the lazo hanging round his neck, 
which he had broken at the risk of hanging himself. 

“ ‘ Here then,’ said I, ‘ I shall now have two horses to go 
in search of instead of one.” 

“ I had scarce made this reflection, when I observed, under 


NOCTURNAL VISITORS. 


90 


the light of the moon, a superb jaguar bounding after my 
horse. He scarce appeared to touch the ground, and each 
leap carried him forward twenty feet or more. 

“ I saw that my poor steed was lost. I listened with 
anxiety, but for a while heard nothing. At the end of a quar- 
ter of an hour, however, a terrible roar ” 

The speaker paused, and stood trembling. 

“ Virgen 8a?ital” cried he, “that’s it!” as the fearful cry 
of a jaguar at that moment echoed through the camp, suc- 
ceeded by a deathlike stillness, as if both men and animals 
had been alike terrified into silence. 


CHAPTER XV. 

NOCTURNAL VISITORS. 

The sudden shock occasioned by the perception of a peril 
so proximate and imminent, paralyzed every tongue. Even 
the ex-herdsman himself was silent, and appeared to reflect 
what had best be done to avoid the danger. 

At this instant the voice of Don Estevan broke the tem- 
porary silence that reigned within the camp. 

“ Get your weapons ready !” shouted he. 

“ It is useless, master,” rejoined the old vaquero, whose 
experience among jaguars gave a certain authority to hia 
words, “the best thing to be done, is to keep the fire 
a-blaze.” 

And saying this, he flung an armful of fagots upon it, which 
being as dry as tinder, at once caught flame — so as to illu- 
mine a large circle around the camp. 

“ If they are not choking with thirst,” said Benito, “ these 


100 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


demons of darkness will not dare come within the circle of 
the fire. But, indeed, they are often choking with thirst, 
and then ■” 

“ Then !” interrupted one of the domestics, in a tone ol 
anxiety. 

“ Then,” continued the herdsman, “ then they don’t regard 
either light or fire ; and if we are not determined to defend 
the water against their approach, we had better get out of 
their way altogether. These animals are always more thirsty 
than hungry.” 

“How when they have drunk?” asked Baraja, whose 
countenance, under the light of the fire, betrayed consider- 
able uneasiness. 

“ Why, then they seek to appease their hunger.” 

At this moment a second cry from the jaguar was heard, 
but farther off than the first. This was some relief to the 
auditory of Benito, who, relying upon his theory, was satis- 
fied that the animal was not yet at the extreme point of suf- 
fering from thirst. All of them preserved silence — the only 
sounds heard being the crackling of the dry sticks with 
which Baraja kept the fire profusely supplied. 

“ Gently there, Baraja! gently !” called out the vaqucro, 
“ if you consume our stock of fire-wood in that fashion, you 
will soon make an end of it, and, por Dios ! amigo , you will 
have to go to the woods for a fresh supply.” 

“ There ! hold your hand,” continued he, after a pause, 
“ and try to make the fagots last as long as possible, else we 
may get in darkness and at the mercy of the tiger. He is 
sure to come back again in an hour or two, and far thirstier 
than before.” 

If Benito had desired to frighten his companions, he could 
not have succeeded better. The eyes of one and all of them 
were anxiously bent upon the heap of dried sticks that still 
remained by the fire, and which appeared scarcely sufficient 


NOCTURNAL VISITORS. 


101 


to last for another hour. But there was something so 
earnest in the tone of the ex-herdsman, despite the jesting 
way in which he spoke, that told he was serious in what he 
had said. 

Of course, Don Estevan had postponed the interview with 
Tiburcio ; and the young man, still ignorant that it was to 
Don Estevan he really owed his life, did not think of 
approaching to offer him thanks. Moreover, he saw that the 
moment would be ill-timed to exchange compliments of cour- 
tesy with the chief of the expedition, and for this reason he 
remained standing where Cuchillo had left him. 

Nevertheless Don Estevan could not hinder himself from 
casting an occasional glance in the direction where the young 
man stood — though through the obscurity he could make no 
exact observation of his features. 

The silence continued. Don Estevan and the Senator 
remained seated on their camp-beds, carbine in hand, while 
Benito, surrounded by the other domestics, formed a group 
by the side of the fire. The horses had all approached 
within a few feet of their masters, where they stood trem- 
bling and breathing loudly from their spread nostrils. Their 
behaviour indicated an instinct on their part that the danger 
was not yet over. 

Several minutes passed, in which no human voice broke 
the silence. In the midst of greatest perils there is some- 
thing consolatory in the sound of a man’s voice — something 
which makes the danger appear less ; and as if struck by this 
idea, some one asked Benito to continue the narrative of his 
adventures. 

“ I have told you then,” resumed the ex-herdsman, “ that 
I saw the tiger springing after my horse, and that in the 
chase both disappeared from my sight. The moment after, 
the horse came galloping back ; but I knew that it was his 
last gallop, as soon as by the light of the moon I saw the 


102 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


terrible rider that he carried. The jaguar was upon his back, 
flattened over his shoulders, with the neck of the poor horsa 
fast between his jaws. 

“ They had not gone a dozen paces before I heard a crack- 
ling sound — as if some bone had been crushed — and on the 
instant I saw the horse stumble and fall. Both tiger and 
horse rolled over and over in a short but terrible struggle, 
and then my poor steed lay motionless. 

“ For safety I stole away from the dangerous proximity ; 
but returning after daylight, I found only the half-stripped 
skeleton of a horse that had carried me for many a long year. 

“ And now, amigo,” continued the ex-herdsman, turning to 
the man who had first spoken, “ do you still think that the 
jaguar attacks only foals ?” 

No one made reply, but Benito’s audience turned their 
glances outward from the Are, fearing that in the circle -around 
they might see shining the eyes of one of these formidable 
animals. 

Another interval of silence succeeded to the narrative 
of the vaquero. This was broken by the young man 
Tiburcio, who, used to the wild life of the plains and forests, 
was very little frightend by the presence of the jaguars. 

“ If you have a horse,” said he, “ you need not much fear 
the jaguar ; he is sure to take your horse first. Here, we have 
twenty horses and only one tiger.” 

“ The young man reasons well,” rejoined Baraja, reassured 
by the observation of Tiburcio. 

“ Twenty horses for one tiger — yes,” replied Benito ; “ but 
suppose the horses don’t choose to remain here. Supposing, 
what is likely enough to happen, we have an estampeda — the 
horses will be off. Now the jaguar knows very well he can- 
not overtake a horse unless he does so hi the first bound or 
two. He will not follow the horses then, but will stay by the 
water, and of course by us as well. Besides, the jaguars that 


NOCTURNAL VISITORS. 


103 


hunt by these springs are likely enough to have tasted human 
flesh before now ; and if so, they will not, as the young man 
affirms, prefer the flesh of a horse.” 

“Very consoling, that,” internpted Cuchillc. 

Benito appeared to be a man fond of the most frightful sug- 
gestions, for not contented with what he had already said, he 
continued — 

“ If there be but one jaguar, then he will be satisfied with 
one of us, but in case he should chance to be accompanied by 
his female, then — ” 

“ Then what, by all the devils ?” demanded Cuchillo. 

“ Why then — but I don’t wish to frighten you.” 

“ May thunder strike you ! Speak out,” cried Baraja, suf- 
fering at the suspense. 

“ Why, in that case,” coolly added Benito, “ the tiger would 
undoubtedly show his gallantry to his female by killing a pair 
of us.” 

“ Carramba !” fervently exclaimed Baraja. “ I pray the 
Lord that this tiger may be a bachelor,” and as he said this 
he flung a fresh armful of fagots on the fire. 

“ Gently, amigo ! gently,” interrupted the ex-herdsman, 
lifting off some of the sticks again. “We have yet at least 
six hours of night, and these fagots will scarce serve to keep 
up the light for one. Gently, I say! we have still three 
chances of safety ; the first that the jaguar may not be 
thirsty ; the second, that he may content himself with one of 
our horses ; and the third, that he may, as you have wished 
it, be a bachelor tiger/’ 

There was no response, and another interval of silence suc- 
ceeded. During this it was some consolation to the travellers 
to see the moon, which now, rising above the horizon, lit up 
the plains with her white beams, and flung her silvery efful- 
gence over the trees. From the direction of the woods 
came the mournful notes of the great horned owl, and the 


104 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Bound of flapping wings, caused by the vampire bat, as it 
glided through the aisles of the forest. No other sounds 
appeared to indicate the presence of living thing except 
those made by the horses or the travellers themselves. 

“ Do you think,” said Tiburcia, addressing himself to 
Benito, “ that the jaguar is likely to return again ? I have 
known these animals howl at night around my hut, and then 
go off altogether.” 

“ Yes,” replied Benito, “ that may be when their drinking 
place is left free to them. Here we have intercepted their 
approach to the water. Besides, here are both men and 
horses — both food and drink in one place ; it is not likely 
they have gone away from a spot that promises to furnish 
them with both. No, I warrant you, they are still in the 
neighbourhood.” 

At this moment the cry of the jaguar was heard once more, 
proving the correctness of Benito’s judgment. 

“There!” cried he, “just as I said; the beast is nearer 
too — no doubt his thirst is increasing — the more so that he is 
hindered from approaching the spring. Ha ! do you hear 
that ?” 

This exclamation was caused by another roar of the jaguar, 
but evidently not the one that had been already frightening 
the travellers — for this cry came from the opposite side of the 
camp. 

“Ave Maria!” screamed Baraja, in anguish, “the tiger 
has a wife !” 

“You speak true,” said Benito, “there are two of them, 
and they must be a male and female, since two male jaguars 
never hunt in company.” 

“ Garrcii /” exclaimed Cuchillo, “ may the devil take me if 
ever I passed a night in the company of such a man as this 
old herdsman. He would frighten the hair off one’s head if 
he could.” 


NOCTURNAL VISITORS. 


105 


“After all,” said Baraja, “I think there can’t be much dan- 
ger, so long as we have got the horses between us and these 
terrible brutes.” 

Unhappily, this chance of safety was not to exist much 
longer, for just then the jaguars recommenced their growl- 
ing, both of them nearer than ever. The effect upon 
the horses was now exhibited in a complete estampeda — 
for these animals, seeing they could no longer rely upon 
their masters for protection, preferred trusting to their 
heels, and one and all of them broke away in a wild gallop. 

As this last chance of security was gone, the old 
vaquero, leaving the fire, approached the spot where Don 
Estevan and the Senator were seated, and thus addressed 
them : — 

“Gentlemen,” said he, “prudence requires that you will 
not remain so far from the rest of us. As you perceive there 
is danger on both sides, it will be best that we should all keep 
close together, and as near the fire as possible.” 

The affrighted look of the Senator offered a striking con 
trast to the countenance of Don Estevan, which still preserved 
its calm rigidity. 

“ It is good advice this faithful servant gives us,” said 
Tragaduros, rising to do as Benito had suggested. 

“Come, Benito,” said Don Estevan, “these are nothing 
but hunter’s stories you have been telling, and you wish to 
frighten these novices ? Is it not so?” 

“ As I live, Senor Don Estevan, ’tis the truth !” 

“ There is a real danger, then ?” 

“ Certain there is, my master !” 

“Very well,. in that case I shall remain where I am.” 

“ Are you in earnest ?” asked the frightened Tragaduros. 

“ Quite so — the duty of a leader is to protect his fol- 
lowers,” said the Spaniard, proudly, “ and that is what I 
mean to do. If the danger is only from the right and left as 

5 * 


106 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


it appears to be — I shall guard the right here. There are two 
bullets in my gun, and with these and a sure eye, what care 
I for a jaguar. You, Senor Don Yicente, can take your stand 
on the left of the fire, and watch that side. If it appears pru- 
dent to you to keep near the men, do so.” 

This compromise appeared to the taste of Tragaduros, 
who had no idea of exposing the person of a man who was to 
be the future proprietor of a million of dollars dowry. He 
lost no time, therefore, in crossing over to the fire, 
and although he made a feint to keep watch on the 
opposite side from that guarded by Don Estevan, he 
took care to remain within a few feet of the group of 
attendants. 

These dispositions had scarce been completed, when a for- 
midable dialogue was struck up between the two fierce beasts 
that were approaching on opposite sides of the camp. Now 
they would utter a hoarse roaring, then a series of screams 
and yells, succeeded by a shrill mewing that resembled the 
caterwauling of cats — only louder and more terrific in its 
effect. Though Benito and Tiburcio knew that all these 
noises were caused by a single pair of tigers, the others 
imagined that not less than a dozen must be engaged in the 
frightful chorus. 

The gun of the Senator shook in his hand — Baraja com- 
mended his soul to all the saints in the Spanish calendar — 
Cuchillo clutched his carbine, as if he would crush it between 
his fingers — while the chief himself coolly awaited the denoue- 
ment of the drama. 


THE TIGER HUNTERS. 


107 


CHAPTER XYI. 

THE TIGER HUNTERS. 

By the light of the fire Don Estevan could be seen walk- 
ing in the direction whence proceeded the cries of the 
jaguar that was approaching on the right. He appeared calm 
as if going out in search of a deer. Tiburcio, at the aspect 
of the Spanish chief, felt within him that exultation of spirit 
which danger produces in certain energetic natures ; but his 
dagger was the only weapon he possesed. 

He cast a glance at the double-barrelled gun which 
the Senator held in his hand, and of which the latter was 
likely to make a use more fatal to his companions than to the 
jaguar. 

On his part the Senator cast an envious look upon the safe 
position which Tiburcio occupied — in the centre of the group 
formed by Benito and his companions. Tiburcio read the 
meaning of this look. 

“ Senor Senator,” said he, “ it is not proper that you should 
expose your life thus — a life valuable to the state. You have 
relatives — a noble family; as for me, if I should be killed, 
there is no one to care for me.” 

“ The fact is,” said the Senator, “ if others set upon my 
life one half the value I put upon it myself, my death would 
cause a great deal of unhappiness.” 

“Well, senor, suppose we change places? You give me 
your gun, and permit me to place my body in front of you as 
a rampart against the claws of the jaguars.” 


109 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


This proposal was made at the moment when the twc 
cavernous voices of the ferocious beasts were heard loudly 
answering to one another. Under the impression produced 
by the terrible dialogue, Tiburcio’s offer was hastily ac- 
cepted. The Senator took his place ; while the young man, 
■with sparkling eyes and firm step advanced several paces in 
the direction of the forest whence came the cries of the 
jaguar. There he halted to receive the attack that appeared 
inevitable. 

Don Estevan and he appeared motionless as a pair of 
statues. The unequal reflections of the fire gleamed upon 
these two men — whom chance had thus strangely united — 
neither of whom might yield to the other in pride or 
courage. 

The moment was becoming critical. The two jaguars were 
about to find enemies worthy of them. 

The fire now burnt down threw out only a pale light, 
scarce strong enough to illumine the group that stood near 
its edge. # 

At this moment an incident occurred which was likely to 
cause a change in the situation of affairs. In the midst of an 
interval of silence — in which the very stillness itself increased 
the apprehension of the travellers — was heard the long lugu- 
brious whine of a prairie wolf. Melancholy as was this sound 
it was sweet in comparison with the cries of the more, for- 
midable animals, the jaguars. 

“ The prairie wolf to howl in the presence of the tiger !” 
muttered the ex-herdsman. “ Carramba ! there’s something 
strange about that.” 

“ But I have heard it said,” rejoined Tiburcio, “ that it is 
the habit of the prairie wolf to follow the jaguar when the 
latter is in search of prey ?” 

“ That is true enough,” replied Benito, “ but the wolf nevei 
howls so near the tiger, till after the tiger has taken his prey 


THE TIGER HUNTERS. 


109 


and is busy devouring it. Then his howl is a humble prayer 
for the other to leave him something. 

“This is strange,” continued the vaquero, as the prai- 
rie wolf was heard to utter another long whine. “ Hark ! 
another ! — yes — another prairie wolf and on the opposite side 
too !” 

In fact, another plaintive whine, exactly resembling the first, 
both in strength and cadence, was heard from a point directly 
opposite. 

“I repeat it,” said Benito, “prairie wolves would never 
dare to betray themselves thus. I am greatly mistaken if it 
be not creatures of a different species that make this howl- 
ing, and who don’t care a straw for the jaguars.” 

“ What creatures ?” demanded Tiburcio. 

“ Human creatures !” answered the ex-herdsman. Ameri- 
can hunters from the north.” 

“ Trappers do you mean ?” 

“ Precisely. There are no people in these parts likely to 
be so fearless of the jaguar, and I am pretty sure that what 
appears to be the call of the prairie wolf, is nothing else than 
a signal uttered by a brace of trappers. They are in pursuit 
of the jaguars ; they have separated, and by these signals 
they acquaint one another of their whereabouts.” 

Meanwhile the trappers, if such they were, appeared to 
advance with considerable precaution ; for although the 
party by the fire listened attentively, not the slightest noise 
could be heard — neither the cracking of a branch, nor the 
rustling of a leaf.” 

“ Hilloa ! you by the fire there !” all at once broke out 
from the midst of the darkness a loud rough voice, “ we are 
approaching you. Don’t be afraid ; and don’t fire your guns!” 

The voice had a foreign accent, which partly confirmed 
the truth of the vaquero’s conjecture, and the appearance of 
the speaker himself proved it to a certairty. 


110 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


We shall not stay to describe the singular aspect of the 
new arrival — further than to say that he was a man of her- 
culean stature, and accoutred in the most bizarre fashion. 
He appeared a sort of giant armed with a rifle — proportioned 
to his size — that is, having a barrel of thick heavy metal 
nearly six feet in length. 

As he approached the group his sharp eye soon took in the 
different individuals that composed it ; and rested with a 
satisfied look on the form of Tiburcio. 

“ The devil take that fire of yours !” he said abruptly, but 
in a tone of good-humor. “ It has frightened away from us 
two of the most beautiful jaguars that ever roamed about 
these deserts.” 

“ Frightened them away !” exclaimed Baraja. M Car - 

ramba / I hope that may be true !” 

“ Will you allow me to put the fire out ?” inquired the 
new comer. 

“ Put out the fire — our only safeguard !” cried the asto- 
nished Senator. 

“ Your only safeguard !” repeated the trapper, equally 
astonished, as he pointed with his finger around him. 
“ What ! eight men wanting a fire for a safeguard against 
two poor tigers ! you are surely making game of me !” 

“ Who are you, sir ?” demanded Don Estevan, in a haughty 
tone. 

“ A hunter — as you see.” 

“ Hunter, of what ?” 

“ My comrade and I trap the beaver, hunt the wolf, tho 
tigar — or an Indian, if need be.” 

“ Heaven has sent you then to deliver us from these fierce 
animals,” said Cuchillo, showing himself in front. 

M Not very likely,” replied the trapper, whose first impres 
sion of the outlaw was evidently an unfavourable one, 
“ Heaven I fancy had nothing to do with it. My comrado 


THE TIGER HUNTERS. 


Ill 


and I at about two leagues from here chanced upon a pan* 
ther and two jaguars, quarrelling over the body of a dead 
horse.” 

“ He was mine,” interrupted Tiburcio. 

“ Yours, young man !” continued the trapper, in a tone of 
rude cordiality. “Well, I am glad to see you here, for wo 
thought that the owner of the horse might be no longer 
among the living. The panther we killed, but the two 
jaguars made off, and we tracked them hither to the spring, 
which your fire now hinders them from approaching. There- 
fore, if you wish to be rid of these beasts, the sooner you 
put out the fire the better; and you will see how soon we 
shall disembarrass you of their presence.” 

“And your comrade ?” asked Don Estevan, struck with the 
idea of making a brace of valuable recruits. “ Where is he ?” 

“ He’ll be here presently ; but to the work, else we must 
leave you to get out of your scrape as you best can.” 

There was a certain authority in the tone and words of the 
trapper — a cool assurance that produced conviction — and 
upon his drawing near to put out the fire, Don Estevan did 
not offer to hinder him, but tacitly permitted him to have 
his way. 

In a few seconds the burnt fagots were scattered about 
over the grass, and the cinders quenched by a few buckets 
of water drawn from the trough. This done the trapper 
uttered an imitation of the voice of the coyote ; and before 
its echoes had died away, his companion stepped forward 
upon the ground. 

Although the second trapper was by no means a man of 
low stature, alongside his companion he appeared only a 
pigmy. lie was not less strangely accoutred, but in the 
absence of the fire-light his costume was not sufficiently visi- 
ble for its style to be distinguished. Of him and his dress 
we shall hereafter speak more particularly. 


112 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ At last your devilish fire is out,” said he, as he came up 
“ for the want of wood, no doubt, which none of you dared 
to go fetch.” 

“No, that is not the reason,” hastily replied the first 
trapper ; “ I got leave from these gentlemen to put it out — 
so that we may have an opportunity to rid them of the pre- 
ence of the tigers.” 

“Hum! murmured the Senator; “I fear we have done 
wrong in letting the fire be put out. Suppose you miss 
them ?” 

“ Miss them ! Por Dios ! how ?” cried the second trapper. 
Caspita! If I had not been afraid to frighten off one of the 
beasts, I could have killed the other long ago. Several 
times I had him at the muzzle of my carbine, when the signal 
of my comrade hindered me from firing. Miss them 
indeed!” 

“Never mind !” interrupted the great trapper ; “ we shall 
end the matter, I have no doubt, by convincing this gentle- 
man.” 

“You already knew, then, that we were here?” said 
Baraja. 

“ Of course. We have been two hours involuntarily play- 
ing the spy upon you. Ah ! I know a part of the country 
where travellers that take no more precautions than you, 
would soon find their heads stripped of the skin. But come, 
Dormilon ! to our work !” 

“ What if the jaguars come our way ?” suggested the 
Senator, apprehensively. 

“No fear of that,” replied the trapper. “Their first care 
will be to satisfy their thirst, which your fire has hindered 
them from doing. You will hear them howling with joy, as 
soon as they perceive that the fire is gone out. It was the 
light shining upon the water that frightened them more than 
the presence of men. All they want now is to get a drink.” 


THE TIGER HUNTERS. 


113 


“ But how do you intend to act ?” inquired Don Estevan. 

“ How do we intend to act ?” repeated the second trap- 
per. “That is simple enough. We shall place ourselves in 
the cistern — the jaguars will come forward to its brink ; and 
then, if we are only favoured by a blink of the moon, I’ll 
answer for it that in the twinkling of an eye the brutes will 
neither feel hunger nor thirst.” 

“ Ah, this appears very simple !” cried Cuchillo, who was 
in reality astonished at the simplicity of the plan. 

“Simple as bidding ‘good bye’ to you,” humorously 
responded one of the trappers. “ Listen there ! — what did I 
tell you ?” 

Two loud roars, as if from a brazen trumpet, were heard 
at the moment. They appeared to proceed from the same 
point, proving that the jaguars had joined company ; and 
moreover, proclaimed the joy which the fierce creatures felt 
at the darkness being restored. This was further evident 
from their repeated sniffing of the air, like horses who afai 
off scent with delight the fresh emanations of the water. 

At this the two trappers, leaving the party by the fire, 
betook themselves to the cistern. The moon for a moment 
shining out, glanced upon the barrels of their long rifles ; but 
the next moment they had disappeared behind the ridge that 
surrounded the spring. 

No doubt it is a grand pleasure to witness the spectacle of 
a bull-fight, as the huge bull dashes into the ring, and, pierced 
by the tormenting bandrilleros , with a crest erect, and eye 
flashing fire, bounds over the arena. But, if the spectators 
were not separated from the actors by an impassable barrier, 
the sight would have in it less of enjoyment than of terror. 
The combats between men and tigers — which the Romans 
used to enjoy — must have been a still more exciting specta- 
cle ; but who can doubt that, if the iron railing which sepa- 
rated the audience from the combatants had been removed, 


114 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


scarce one of the former would have remained in the circoi 
to witness the sanguinary struggle ? 

Only a short space — not wider than a jaguar could have 
passed over in a single leap — here separated the spectators 
from the actors in the drama about to be enacted. Suppos- 
ing, then, that one of the actors should fail in performing his 
part, and the spectators have to take his place ? Here was 
a situation, exceptional, and fertile in emotions, which most 
of the travellers felt keenly at the moment. 

Meanwhile the trappers had descended into the little 
crater-like valley of the spring, and there placed themselves 
in readiness, rifle in hand, to await the approach of their ter- 
rible adversaries. They were both upon their knees, back 
to back, in order that they could keep at the same time 
under view the whole circumference of the circle. Both had 
placed their knives in readiness, in case that, by any chance, 
they should either miss their aim, or — what would be almost 
as unlucky — only wound the enemy; for they well knew 
that a wounded jaguar is a more dangerous adversary 
than one that escapes altogether from the touch of the 
bullet. 

Fortunately the moon had again appeared ; but being yet 
low down in the sky, her beams were not thrown into the 
bottom of the valley — and therefore the trappers themselves 
were still under the shadow. This circumstance was in their 
favour. 

Notwithstanding the perilous position in which they had 
thus voluntarily placed themselves, neither made the slight- 
est movement ; and the long barrels of their rifles stood 
forth in front of them, as motionless as bronze cannon set in 
battery. 

They well knew, in case either should miss with their fire- 
arms, that a tand-to-hand struggle with the ferocious tigers 
would be the result ; a combat of knives and claws— a combat 


UNEXPECTED RECOGNITIONS. 


115 


to the death. Yes ; at the bottom of that little valley it 
would be necessary for them to conquer or die. They knew 
this without exhibiting the slightest show of fear. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

UNEXPECTED RECOGNITIONS. 

It was not long before the spectators, who awaited this 
terrible conflict, perceived the jaguars advancing toward the 
crest of the ridge. All at once, however, the two made an 
abrupt pause, uttering a loud roar that seemed to express 
disappointment. They had just scented the presence of the 
two men within the cistern — from which the animals were 
now only a few paces distant. 

For a moment both male and female stood together, 
stretching their bodies out to their full length, and lashing 
their flanks with their long sinewy tails. Then, uttering 
another prolonged roar, they bounded simultaneously for- 
ward, passing, at a single leap, over a space of full twenty 
feet. A second spring brought them upon the crest of the 
ridge, upon which they had scarce rested an instant, before 
the quick sharp crack of a rifle, followed by a yell of agony, 
told that one of them had fallen to the hunter’s bullet. 

The second jaguar appeared for the moment to have 
escaped, but not to have retreated. He was seen to launch 
himself into the bottom of the little valley ; and then was 
heard a confusion of noises — human voices mingling with the 
howls of the fierce brute ; and the sound of a struggle, as if 
jaguar and hunters were rolling over one another. A second 
report now struck upon the ear, followed as before by tlia 


116 


THE WOOD-BANGERS. 


expiring yell of the tiger, and then succeeded a profound 
silence, which told that the wild scene was at an end. 

The great trapper was now perceived scrambling up tc 
the ridge — towards which the whole of the travellers had 
advanced to meet him. 

“ See 1” he said, addressing himself to his admiring audi- 
tory, “ see what a brace of Kentucky rifles and a good knife 
can do in the hands of those who know how to manage 
them !” 

The darkness, however, hindered the spectators from 
making out the tableau which was exhibited at the bottom 
of the little valley. 

A few minutes afterwards the moon lighted up the scene, 
and then could be observed the dead bodies of the two 
tigers, stretched along the ground by the water’s edge, 
while the other trapper upon his knees was engaged in 
bathing with cold water a long scar, which he had received 
from the claws of the last killed jaguar, and which extended 
from behind his ear nearly down to his waist. Fortunately 
this ugly looking wound was no more than skin deep, and 
therefore not very dangerous. 

“What signify the sharpest claws compared with the 
scratch of a knife !” cried he, pointing to the nearest of the 
jaguars, whose upturned belly exhibited a huge cut of more 
than a foot in length, and through which the entrails of the 
animal protruded. 

“Can any of you tell us,” continued he, without thinking 
further about his wound, “if there is a hacienda in this 
neighbourhood where one might sell these two beautiful 
jaguar skins, as well as the hide of a panther we’ve got ?” 

“ Certainly,” replied Benito, “ there is the Hacienda del 
Venado, where we are going. There you may get not only 
five dollars apiece for the skins, but also the bounty of ten 
dollars more.” 


UNEXPECTED RECOGNITIONS. 


Ill 


44 What say you, Canadian ?” inquired the trapper, address- 
ing his great comrade. 44 Will that do ?” 

44 Certainly,” replied the Canadian, 44 forty-five dollars is 
not to be sneezed at ; and when we have had a short nap, 
we shall make tracks for the hacienda. We shall be likely 
to get there before these gentlemen, whose horses have 
taken a fancy to have a bit of a gallop, and I guess it will be 
some time before they lay hands on them again.” 

44 Don’t be uneasy about us !” rejoined the ex-herdsman. 
44 It’s not the first time I’ve seen a horse drove stampedoed , 
nor the first time I’ve collected them again. I’ve not quite 
forgotten my old business, and as soon as it is daylight, with 
the permission of the Senor Don Estevan, I shall go in search 
of them.” 

No one made any opposition to the rekindling of the fire; 
for the night had grown cooler, and it was not yet midnight. 
The domestics, no longer afraid of going out into the woods, 
collected fresh fagots — enough to last till morning — and 
the preparations for supper, which bad been interrupted by 
the approach of the jaguars, were now continued with 
renewed zeal. 

The blaze soon flared up bright and joyous as ever — the 
broiling mutton sent forth its delicious odour, sharpening 
to a keen edge the appetites of the travellers as they stood 
around the fire. 

Don Estevan and the Senator now called before them the 
two intrepid hunters, who had rendered them a service that 
fully deserved their thanks. 

44 Corne hither, brave hunters !” said the Senator , 44 you, 
whose daring behaviour has been of such service to us. A 
slice of roast mutton and a cup of Catalonian wine will not 
be out of place, after the rude struggle you have sustained.” 

4 ’Ugh !” said the eldest of the trappers, in presenting his 
athletic form in front of the fire, “ throwing a couple of pool 


118 


THE AVOOD-RANGERS. 


tigers is no great feat. If it had been an affair of a dozen 
Comanches, or Pawnees, that would have been different. 
Howsomever, a chunk of roast mutton is welcome after a 
fight, as well as before one, and we’re ready for it with your 
permission. Come along, comrade ! Here’s some chawing 
for you !” 

“And you, young man,” continued Don Estevan, address- 
ing himself to Tiburcio, who stood at some distance apart, 
“ you will also partake of our hospitality ?” 

Tiburcio by a sign accepted the invitation, and approached 
the fire. For the first time his countenance came fairly 
under the light ; and as it did so, the eyes of the Spaniard 
seemed to devour him with their regard. In truth the 
physiognomy of Tiburcio Arellanos was of no ordinary 
character, and Avould have merited observation from one 
less interested in examining it than was Don Estevan 
Arechiza. 

An aquiline nose, black eyes Avith thick dark eyebrows 
and long lashes, and olive complexion — that appeared almost 
white in contrast with the jetty blackness of his beard — but 
above all, the extreme contraction of a thin upper lip, indi- 
cated the countenance of a man of quick resolves and fiery 
passions. A shade of tranquil melancholy over these fea- 
tures, to some extent tempered their half-fierce expression. 

The hair was of a chestnut brown colour, and hung in 
luxuriant curls over a forehead large and of noble outline. 
Broad shoulders, and well-developed limbs, denoted a mau 
of European vigour, whose personal strength would bo 
equal, if occasion required it, to the execution of those pas- 
sionate designs nourished under the tropical skies of Spanish 
America. 

Tiburcio Arellanos was in truth the type of a noble and 
ancient race, transplanted into a country still less than half 
civilized. 


UNEXPECTED RECOGNITIONS 


119 


“The ?ery form and bearing of Don Juan de Mediana!” 
muttered Don Estevan to himself ; more than half convinced 
that the young man before his eyes was the son of him 
whose name he had pronounced. No one could have read 
his suspicions, hidden under the mask of perfect calmness. 

There was one other man in that group who was struck 
by the aspect of Tiburcio. This was the big trapper, who on 
first sight of the young man’s face under the light of the fire, 
started and closed his eyes, as if lightning had flashed before 
them. He was about to rush forward, when a second look 
seemed to convince him he had made a mistake; and smiling 
at his having done so, he kept his place. His eyes then wan- 
dered around the group of faces that encircled the fire, with 
that scrutinizing glance, that showed a capacity for reading 
the characters of men in their looks. 

Having finished this scrutiny, he called out to his compan- 
ion, who had not yet got forward : — 

“Come along, partner; or people will say you are ashamed 
to show yourself. Prove to these gentlemen, that you know 
how to enjoy life like other folk.” 

“ Oh certainly — I am coming — all right, comrade.” 

And the next moment the younger trapper made his 
appearance within the circle of light. 

An odd-looking object he appeared, with his huge fur cap 
upon his head, drawn down in front, so as to cover his eyes, 
and an old striped cotton handkerchief fastened over his face 
and throat, in such a maimer as to conceal the scar made by 
the claws of the tiger. With the cap and kei chief, the 
greater portion of his countenance was masked, leaving visi- 
ble only his mouth, with a double row of grand teeth, that 
promised to perform their part upon the roast mutton. 

Having reached the fire, he sat down with his back to it 
— so that his half masked face was still further concealed in 
shadow— and being supplied, as well as his comrade, with 


120 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


a large cut from the joint, he at once set about satisfying the 
appetite of hunger. 

“ Are there many men of your size and strength where 
you come from ?” inquired the Senator, addressing himself 
to the largest of the two hunters. 

“ In Canada,” answered the latter, “ I should not be 
remarked among others ; ask my comrade there !” 

“ He speaks true,” grumbled the other. 

“ But you are not both from the same country ?” said 
Tragaduros. 

“ N o — my comrade is a native of — ” 

“ Of New York State,” hastily interposed the younger of 
the two trappers — a reply which astonished the Canadian, 
but which he refrained from contradicting. 

“ And what is your calling ?” continued the Senator, inter- 
rogatively. 

“ Coureurs des hois” wood-rangers, answered the Cana- 
dian. “That is to say, we pass our time in ranging the 
woods, with no other object than to avoid being shut up in 
towns. Alas ! it is a profession likely soon to come to an 
end ; and when we two are gone, the race of wood-rangers 
will run out in America, since neither of us has any sons 
to carry on the business of their father.” 

There was a tone of melancholy in the last words of the 
trapper’s speech that contrasted strangely with his rude 
manner : something that seemed to evince a certain degree 
of regret. Don Estevan, noticing this, now entered into the 
conversation. 

“ I fear it is a poor business you follow, my brave fellows ! 
But if you feel inclined to leave it off for awhile, and take 
a part in an expedition that we are about to set on foot, I can 
promise to fill your caps with gold dust. What say you ?” 

“No!” brusquely responded the younger of the trap- 
pers. 


UNEXPECTED RECOGNITIONS. 


121 


“ Each to his own business,” added the Canadian. “ We 
are not gold-seekers. We love to range freely where we 
please, without leader, and without being controlled V* ?.ny 
one — in a word, free as the sun or the prairie breeze.” 

These answers were given in a tone so firm and peremp- 
tory that the Spaniard saw it would be of no use combating 
a resolution which was evidently not to be shaken, and 
therefore he declined to make any further offers. 

Supper was soon over, and each of the travellers set about 
making himself as comfortable as possible for the remainder 
of the night. 

In a short time, all, with the exception of Tiburcio, were 
asleep. But Tiburcio was yet a mere youth, an orphan, who 
had lately lost a mother for whom he had a profound affec- 
tion — and above all, Tiburcio was in love — three reasons why 
he could not sleep. A deep sadness had possession of his 
spirits. He felt himself in an exceptional situation — his past 
was equally mysterious with his future. 

“ Oh, my mother! my mother!” murmured he, despair- 
ingly, to himself, “ why did you not tell me who I am !” 

And as he said this he appeared to listen — as if the breeze, 
sighing through the leaves, would give a response to his 
interrogation. Little thought he at the moment that one of 
those men, lying near him under the light of the moon, could 
have given the desired answer — could have told him the 
name which he ought to hear. 

Nevertheless, on her death-bed, the widow of Marcos 
Arellanos had revealed to him a secret — perhaps almost as 
interesting as that of his birth and parentage. 

The secret of the Golden Yalley, which had been made 
known to Tiburcio, had opened his eyes to a world of pleas- 
ant dreams. A prospect which hitherto had appeared to him 
only as a chimerical vision, was now viewed by him in the 
light of a reality. A gulf that before seemed impassable, 

6 


122 


THE W00D-KANGER8. 


was now bridged over as if by the hand of some powerful 
fairy. 

Gold can work such miracles. Had he not in prospect the 
possession of a rich placer? Would not that enable him to 
overcome all obstacles both of the past and the future ? 
Might he not, by the puissance of gold, discover who were 
his real parents ? and by the same means, might he not real- 
ize that sweeter dream that had now for two years held 
possession of his heart ? 

As he lay upon the ground, kept awake by these hopeful 
reflections, a vision was passing before his mind’s eye. It 
was a scene in which were many figures. A gentleman of 
rich apparel — a young girl his daughter — a train of servants 
all affrighted and in confusion. They have lost their way in 
the middle of the forest, and are unable to extricate them- 
selves from the labyrinth of llianas and thickets that surround 
them. A guide appears in the presence of a young hunter, 
who engages to conduct them to the place whither they 
■wish to go. That guide is Tiburcio himself, who in his reverie 
— as in the real scene that occurred just two years before — 
scarce observes either the gentleman in rich apparel nor the 
attendants that surround him ; but only remembers the 
beautiful dark eyes and raven hair of the young girl. Tibur- 
cio reassures them of safety, guides them during a journey of 
two days — two days that appeared to him to pass only too 
rapidly. 

In his waking dream one scene is forcibly recalled. He 
remembers a night halt in the woods. All were asleep 
around him — the attendants upon the grass — the rich gen- 
tleman upon his cloak, and the young girl upon the skin of 
a jaguar which the guide himself had supplied. He alone 
remained awake. The moon was shining upon all; and a 
delicious perfume from the blossoms of the sweet sassafras 
trees that grew near, was wafted toward them upon the gen* 


UNEXPECTED KECOGNITIONS. 


123 


tie breeze. The blue heaven above appeared in perfect har- 
mony with the tranquil scene below. The guide, with 
admiring eyes, looked upon that lovely virgin form and lis- 
tened to the soft breathing of that innocent bosom. To him 
it was a moment of delicious anguish. .... 

Then the vision changed — the young girl at length reached 
her home, and entered the grand dwelling of her father. 
There the guide remained a whole week a welcome guest — - 
drunk with love yet not daring to raise his eyes to the 
object of his passion. 

Afterwards, too, at the festivals of the neighbouring vil- 
lages, a hundred times had he gazed upon her ; but what of 
that ? he was only a poor gambusino / and she the daughter 
of the richest proprietor in the province ! 

But now — with the secret of the Golden Valley — Tiburcio 
suddenly saw himself powerful and rich ; hope had sprung up 
within his bosom ; and amidst the reverie occasioned by 
these delightful thoughts, he at last fell asleep. 

It is scarce necessary to add that the young girl who 
recalled these sweet souvenirs, and who was now mingling 
in his dreams, was the daughter of Don Augustin Pena, the 
proprietor of the Hacienda del Venado. 

At daybreak the sleepers were awakened by the ringing 
of a bell, and the clatter of hoofs. It was the cavallada 
returning to camp, under the charge of Benito, who had 
thus kept his promise. The travellers were soon upon their 
feet, but it was soon perceived that the two trappers were 
not amongst them. These had gone away without any one 
having observed their departure ! 

The horses being saddled and bridled, and the mules 
packed, the cavalcade continued its journey towards the 
hacienda — Don Estevan and the Senator, as before, riding in 
front. 

It was after sunset before the walls of the hacienda wera 


124 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


descried in the distance, already assuming a sombre hue 
under the fast increasing obscurity of the twilight. But 
through the wide forest tract which surrounded the haci- 
enda, a well-defined road led in the direction of the dwelling, 
which the travellers could follow even in the darkest night ; 
and upon this road the cavalcade was now seen to enter. 

A few minutes before they had passed into the forest from 
the open plain, two men were seen standing near the edge of 
a thicket, by w hich they were hidden from the view of the 
travellers. These men might have been easily recognized 
by their long rifles as strangers to that part of the country ; 
they were, hi fact, the two trappers, the Canadian and his 
comrade, w r ho had that morning so abruptly taken leave of 
the camp. 

“ You must have been deceived by some accidental resem- 
blance,” said the Canadian to his companion. 

“ N o,” replied the latter ; “ I am sure it is he. Twenty 
years have not made much change either in his face or figure. 
His voice is just the same as it was w r hen I w r as the coast- 
guard, Pepe the Sleeper. My eyes and ears are as good as 
they were then, and I assure you, Bois-Rose, that he’s the 
very man.” 

“ Strange enough,” answered Bois-Rose (for the great 
Canadian trapper was no other than Bois-Rose himself). 
“After all, one is more likely to meet an enemy he is in 
search of than a friend. It may be the same.” 

“ As he finished this speech, the Canadian, leaning upon 
his long rifle, stood looking after the cavalcade, which was 
just disappearing into the forest road that led to the haci- 
enda. 

After remaining a few r minutes in this position, the two 
trappers turned back again into the forest, and soon disap 
p^ared under the shadows of the trees. 


TIIE IIACIENDA DEL VENADO. 


125 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE HACIENDA DEL YENADO. 

The Hacienda del Venado — like all buildings of this kind 
situated upon the Indian frontier, and of course exposed to 
the attacks of the savages — was a species of citadel, as well 
as a country dwelling-house. Built with sun-dried bricks and 
hewn stone, crowned by a crenelled parapet, and defended 
by huge, massive doors, it could have sustained a siege 
from an enemy more expert in strategy than the tribe of 
Apaches who were its neighbours. 

At one corner stood a tower of moderate height, which 
crowned the chapel belonging to the hacienda, serving for 
the great clock as well as for a belfry. In case the principal 
part of the building should be forced, this tower would 
answer for an asylum almost impregnable. 

Finally, a strong stockade, composed of trunks of the pal- 
metto, completely encircled the building; within which 
enclosure were the quarters destined for the domestics of the 
hacienda — as also for the herdsmen, and such ordinary guests 
as from time to time came to seek a passing hospitality. Out- 
side this privileged enclosure was a group of from twenty to 
thirty huts, composing a species of little village. These 
were inhabited by the day-labourers (peons) and their fami- 
lies attached to the hacienda— who, in case of danger, would 
escape within the enclosure for safety and protection. 

Such was the Hacienda del Venado. The proprietor, 
Don Augustin Pena, was a man of great opulence. In addi- 
tion to a rich gold mine which he worked, at no great di & 


126 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


tance off, he was the owner of countless herds of horses, 
mules, and cattle, that in a half wild state roamed over the 
vast savannahs and forests that constituted the twenty 
leagues of land belonging to the hacienda. Such a vast tract 
of territory belonging to one man is by no means a rare thing 
in northern Mexico. 

At this time Don Augustin was a widower, and his family 
consisted of only one daughter — the young girl already 
introduced to the reader. Considering the immense heritage 
that the Dona Iiosario — or, as she was more gracefully called, 
Rosarita — was likely to bring to whoever should become her 
husband, it was natural that an alliance with Don Augustin 
should be the object of many an ambition ; in fact her beauty 
without the grand fortune — which, at her father’s death, she 
was to become mistress of — would of itself have been enough 
to have challenged a crowd of pretenders to her hand. 

The Andalusian type has lost nothing in the northern 
provinces of Mexico. Its purity of outline is there associated 
with freshness of colour, and this happy mixture of graces 
was exhibited in the beautiful countenance of Rosarita. We 
have described her with black eyes and hair of raven hue ; 
but hers was a beauty that words can but faintly portray, 
and about which all description would be superfluous. 

And this lovely creature bloomed in the very midst of the 
desert, like the flower of the cactus which blossoms and fades 
under the eye of God alone. 

The immense plain in the midst of which stood the 
Hacienda del Venado, presented a double aspect. In front 
of the house only did the ground show any traces of cultiva- 
tion. On that side fields of Indian corn and vast olive plant- 
ations denoted the presence and skilful labour of man. 

Behind the hacienda — at some hundred paces distance 
from the stockade — the clearing ended, and thence extended 
the virgin forest in all its sombre and primitive majesty. 


TIIE HACIENDA DEL VENADO. 


127 


The cultivated ground was intersected by a considerable 
stream of water. During the dry season it ran gently and 
silently along, but in the season of rain it would suddenly 
change into an impetuous torrent that inundated the whole 
plain, bearing huge rocks along in its current, and every 
year widening its channel. 

Perhaps the most powerful of Arab chiefs, the . richest 
patriarch of ancient times, never counted such superb and 
numerous herds as roamed over the pasturage of the Hacienda 
del Venado. 

About an hour before sunset — on that same day on which 
the travellers departed from La Poza — two men, one on 
horseback, the other mounted on a mule, were seen travers- 
ing the plain in the direction of the hacienda. Both horse 
and mule were each a splendid specimen of his kind — the 
horse with fiery eye, broad chest, and curving, swan-like 
neck, was scarce more to be admired than the mule, that 
with fine, delicate limbs, rounded flanks, and shining coat, 
walked side by side with him. 

This horseman was the master of the hacienda, Don Augus- 
tin Pena. His costume consisted of a hat of Guayaquil grass, 
a shirt of the finest cambric, an embroidered vest, and silk 
velvet pantaloons fastened down the sides with large buttons 
of gold. 

His companion, the rider of the mule, was the chaplain of 
the hacienda, a reverend Franciscan monk in a sort of half- 
convent costume. This consisted of an ample blue frock 
confined around the waist with a thick cord of silk, the tas- 
sels of which hung down below his knees. Beneath this 
appeared a pair of large riding-boots heavily spurred. Upon 
his head a grey beaver somewhat jauntily set, gave to the 
Franciscan an appearance rather soldier-like than monastic. 

The haciendado appeared to be regarding with a look of 
pride his rich possessions— extending beyond view on every 


128 


TIIE WOOD-RANGERS. 


side of him — as if he was reflecting how much this kind cf 
wealth was superior to golden ingots shut idly in a chest ; 
while the monk seemed to be absorbed in some profound 
reverie. 

“By St. Julian! the patron saint of travellers!” said Don 
Augustin, breaking silence, “ you have been more than 
twenty-four hours absent ! I was afraid, reverend father, 
that some jaguar had swallowed both you and your mule.” 

“Man proposes, and God disposes,” replied the monk. 
“ When I took my departure from the hacienda, I did not 
expect to be gone more than a few hours — giving Christian 
burial to poor Joaquin, that had been killed by one of the 
bulls — but just as I had blessed the earth where they had 
buried him, a young man came galloping up like a thunder- 
bolt, both himself and horse all of a sweat, to beg that I 
"would go along with him and confess his mother who was 
upon her death-bed. Only ten leagues he said it was, and I 
should have been glad for a pretext to get off from such a 
difficult turn of duty; but at the earnest entreaty of the 
young fellow, and knowing who he was, I could not refuse 
him. Who do you think he was ?” 

“ How should I know ?” replied the haciendado. 

“Tiburcio, the adopted son of the famous gambusino, 
Marcos Arellanos.” 

“How! ‘his mother dead! I am sorry. He is a brave 
youth, and I have not forgotten the service he once did me. 
But for him we should all have been dead of thirst, my 
daughter, my people, and myself. If he is left without 
resources, I hope you have said to him that he will find a 
welcome at the Hacienda del Venado.” * 

“ No — I have not,” replied the monk. 

“ And why ?” 

“Because this young fellow is desperately in love with 
your daughter : it is my duty to tell you so.” 


THE HACIENDA DEL VENADO. 


129 


“ What signifies that, so long as my daughter does not 
love him ?” replied Don Augustin. “ And if she did, where 
would she find a man possessing higher physical or moral 
qualities than this same Tiburcio ? I never dreamt of having 
for my son-in-law any other than an intelligent man, brave 
enough to defend the frontier against these hordes of savage 
Indians, and just such a man is young Arellanos. But in 
truth I forget myself, I have this day designed for Rosarita 
a husband of a more exalted station.” 

“And it may be that you have done wrong,” rejoined the 
monk, in a serious tone ; “ from what I suspect — in fact, 
what I may say I know — this Tiburcio might make a more 
valuable son-in-law than you imagine.” 

“ It’s too late then,” said Don Augustin. “ I have given 
my word, and I cannot retract it.” 

“ It is just about this matter I wish to speak to you, if you 
have time to hear me.” 

At this moment the two horsemen having passed the 
stockade, had arrived at the foot of the stone stairway — 
which led up to the portico, and thence into the grand sala 
of the hacienda — and while dismounting, their dialogue was - 
interrupted. 

This sala was a large room, which, according to the prac- 
tice in hot countries, was so arranged as to be continually 
kept cool by a current of air passing lengthwise through its 
whole extent. Fine Chinese mats covered the floor, while 
richly painted window-blinds prevented the rays of the sun 
from entering the apartment. The walls, whitened with 
stucco, were adorned with rare illuminated paintings set in 
gojd frames, some leathern chairs called butacas , several 
side tables — upon one of which stood a silver brazero filled 
with red cinders of charcoal— these, with a fauteuil or two, 
and a mahogany couch of Anglo-American manufacture, com 
pleted the furniture of the apartment. 

6 * 


130 


1HE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Upon a table of polished balsam-wood stood several porous 
jars containing water; beside them, on a large silver waiter, 
were confections of several kinds ; while heaped upon other 
dishes, also of solid silver, were fruits both of the tropic and 
temperate climes — oranges, granadillas, limes, and pitayas, 
here brought together to tempt the appetite or assuage the 
thirst. 

The appearance of these preparations denoted that Don 
Augustin expected company. As soon as they had entered 
within the sala, the monk, observing the well garnished 
tables, inquired if such was the case. 

“ Yes,” answered the haciendado, “ Don Estevan de Are- 
chiza has sent me word that he will arrive this evening with 
a somewhat numerous train, and I have taken measures to 
entertain a guest of such importance. But you say you wish 
to speak to me about some business — what is it Friar Jose 
Maria ?” 

The two now sat down, each choosing an easy chair, and 
while Don Augustin was lighting a cigar the monk com- 
menced speaking as follows : 

“ I found the old woman seated upon a bank outside the 
door of her hut, whither she had dragged herself to look 
out for my arrival. ‘ Bless you, good father !’ said she, ‘ you 
have arrived in time to receive my last confession. But 
while you rest a little, I wish you to listen to what I am 
going to say to him whom I have always treated as my own 
child, and to whom I intend to leave a legacy of ven- 
geance.’ ” 

“ What ! holy father !” interrupted Don Augustin, “ surely 
you did not permit this infraction of God’s law, who says, 
vengea7ice belongs only to him 

“ Why not ?” replied the monk. “ In these deserts, where 
neither laws nor tribunals exist, every man must be his own 
avenger.” 


THE HACIENDA DEL VENADO. 


131 


With this strange apology for his conduct, the monk con- 
tinued : 

u I sat down and listened to what she had to say to this 
adopted son. It was this: — ‘ Your father was not killed by 
the Indians, as we were led to believe. It was his com- 
panion who murdered him — for the purpose of being the sole 
possessor of a secret, which I shall presently disclose — but to 
you only, Marcos.’ 

“ ‘ God alone knows who this man was,’ said Tiburcio, ‘ he 
alone knows him.’ 

“ ‘ He only !’ cried the dying woman, with an air of dis- 
dain. ‘ Is this the language of a man? When the Indians 
come to steal his cattle from the vaquero, does he sit still 
and say : God only can prevent them ? Ho ! — with his eye 
bent, and his hand ready, he follows upon their traces, till he 
has recovered his herds, or perished in the attempt. Go you 
and do as the vaquero ! Track out the assassin of your 
father. That is the last wish of her who nourished you, and 
has never failed in her affection.’ 

“ ‘ I shall obey you, my mother,’ answered the young man, 
in a firm voice. 

“ ‘ Listen, then, what I have got to say !’ continued the 
widow. ‘ The murder of Arellanos is no longer a supposi- 
tion, but a reality. I have it from a herdsman who came 
from the country beyond Tubac. Some days before, he had 
met two travellers. One was yotir father Marcos ; the other 
was a stranger to him. The herdsman was travelling on the 
same route, and followed them at some distance behind. At 
a place where certain signs showed that the two travellers 
had made their bivouac, the herdsman had found the traces 
of a terrible struggle. The grass was bent down, and satu- 
rated with blood. There were tracks of blood leading to a 
precipice that hung over a stream of water ,• and most likely 
over this fhe victim was precipitated. This victim must 


132 


THE WOOD-KANGEES. 


have been Marcos ; for the herdsman was able to follow the 
trail of the murderer by the tracks of his horse ; and a little 
further on he noticed where the horse had stumbled on the 
left fore leg. The assassin himself must have been wounded 
in the struggle, for the herdsman could tell by his tracks 
leading to the precipice, that he had limped on one leg.’ ” 

Don Augustin listened with attention to this account- 
proving the wonderful sagacity of his countrymen, of which 
he had almost every day some new proof. The monk went 
on with his narration. 

“‘Swear then, Tiburcio, to avenge your father!’ con- 
tinued the dying woman. — ‘Swear it, and I promise to make 
you as rich as the proudest in the land ; rich enough to bend 
to your wishes the most powerful — even the daughter of 
Augustin Pena, for whom your passion has not escaped me. 
This day you may aspire to her hand without being deemed 
foolish ; for I tell you, you are as rich as her own father. 
Swear then, to pursue to the death the murderer of Arel- 
lanos ?’ 

“ ‘ I swear it,’ rejoined Tiburcio, with a solemn gesture. 

“ Upon this, the dying woman placed in the hands of the 
young man a piece of paper — upon which Arellanos, before 
leaving his home for the last time, had traced the route of his 
intended journey. 

“ ‘ With the treasure which that paper will enable you to 
find,’ continued the dying woman, ‘ you will have gold 
enough to corrupt the daughter of a viceroy, if you wish it; 
Meanwhile, my child, leave me for a while to confess to this 
holy man : a son should not always hear the confession of his 
mother.’ ” 

The monk, in a few more words, related the closing scene 
of the widow’s death, and then finished by saying: 

“Now, Den Augustin— you perceive my reason for say- 
ing that this young fellow, whatever may be bis family, ia 


THE HACIENDA DEL YENADO. 


133 


not the less likely to make a good match for the Dona Rosa* 
rita.” 

“ I agree with you,” responded the haciendado ; “ but, as 
I have said to you, my word is given to Don Estevan de Are- 
chiza.” 

“ What !” exclaimed the monk, “ this Spaniard to be your 
son-in-law !” 

Don Augustin smiled mysteriously as he replied : — 

“He! no, good Fray Jose, not he, but another. Don 
Estevan does not wish this alliance.” 

“ Caspita !” exclaimed the monk. “ Does he think it 
beneath him ?” 

“It may be he has the right to think so,” added Don 
Augustin, again smiling mysteriously. 

“ But who is this man?” inquired the monk, with an air of 
surprise. 

Just as Don Augustin was about to reply, a servant 
entered the sala. 

“ Senor Don Augustin,” said the servant, “ there are two 
travellers at the gate, who beg of you to give them a night’s 
lodging. One of them says that he is known to you.” 

“ Bid them welcome !” replied the haciendado, “ and let 
them enter. Whether they are known to me or not, two 
guests more or less will be nothing here.” 

A few seconds after, the two travellers had advanced to 
the foot of the stone stairway, where they stood awaiting 
the presence of the master of the house. 

One of them was a man of about thirty years of age — 
whose open countenance and high forehead denoted cour- 
age, combined with intelligence. His figure presented an 
appearance of strength and vigorous activity, and he was 
somewhat elegantly dressed — though without any signs of 
foppery. 

“ Ah ! is it you, Pedrc Diaz ?” cried Don Augustin, recog- 


J34 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


nizing him. “ Are there any Indians to be exterminated, 
since I find you coming into these solitudes of ours ?” 

Pedro Diaz was, in truth, known as the most celebrated 
hater and hunter of Indians in the whole province — hence 
the strange salutation with which Don Augustin received 
him. 

“ Before answering you, Senor Don Augustin, permit me 
to introduce to you the king of gambusinos and prince ol 
musicians, the Senor Don Diego Oroche, who scents a placer 
of gold as a hound would a deer, and who plays upon the 
mandolin as only he can play. 

The individual presented under the name of Oroche, 
solemnly saluted the haciendado. 

It must have been a long time since the prince of gambu- 
sinos had found an opportunity to exercise the subtle talent 
of which his companion spoke — or else the cards had been of 
late unlucky — for his outward man presented an appearance 
that was scarcely more than comfortable. 

In reaching his hand to his hat, it was not necessary for 
him to disarrange the folds of his cloak. It only required 
that he should choose one of the numerous rents that 
appeared in this garment, to pass through it his long-clawed 
fingers — whose length and thinness denoted him a player on 
the mandolin. In reality, he carried one of these instru- 
ments slung over his shoulders. 

Don Augustin invited both Diaz and his singular com- 
panion to enter. When they were seated in the saloon, 
Diaz began the conversation. 

“ We have heard,” said he, “of an expedition being got 
up at Arispe to proceed to Apaclieria ; and this gentleman 
and I are on our way to take part in it. Your hacienda, 
Senor Don Augustin, chanced to lie in our way, and we have 
entered to ask your permission to lodge here for the night 
By daybreak we shall continue our route for Arisr e.” 


THE HACIENDA DEL YENADO. 


135 


“You will not have to go so far,” replied Don Augustin, 
with a smile. “The expedition is already on foot, and I 
expect the leader of it here this very night. He will be glad 
of your services, I guarantee you, and it will save you seve- 
ral days’ journey.” 

“ A miracle in our favor !” exclaimed Diaz ; “ and I thank 
God for the lucky coincidence.” 

“ The thirst of gold has caught you also, Pedro Diaz ?” 
asked Don Augustin, smiling significantly. 

“ No, thank God !” replied Diaz, “ nothing of the sort. I 
leave the searching for gold to experienced gambusinos, such 
as the Senor Oroche here. No — you know well that I have 
no other passion than hatred for the ferocious savages who 
have done so much ill towards me and mine. It is only 
because I hope through this expedition once more to carry 
steel and fire into their midst, that I take any part it.” 

“ It is right,” said the haciendado, who like all dwellers 
upon the frontiers exposed to Indian incursions, nourished in 
his heart a hatred for the savages almost equal to that of 
Diaz himself. “I approve of your sentiments, Don Pedro 
Diaz ; and if you will permit me to offer you a gage of mine, 
I beg you will accept from me the present of a horse I 
have — one that will carry you to your satisfaction. I promise 
you that the Indian you pursue, while on his back, will re- 
quire to go as fast as the wind itself, if you do not overtake 
him.” 

“ He shall be my war horse,” exclaimed Diaz, his eyes 
sparkling with pleasure at the gift. “ I shall ornament his 
crest with Indian scalps, in honour of him who gave him to 
me.” 

“ I cannot divine what has delayed Don Estevan,” said the 
haciendado, changing the subject of cor versation. “ He 
should have been here three hours before this, that is, if ha 
passed the night at La Poza.” 


136 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Don Augustin had scarce finished his speech when a sudden 
and graceful apparition glided into the saloon. It was his 
daughter, the beautiful Rosarita. 

As if the expected calvacade only awaited her presence, the 
clattering of hoofs at the same instant was heard outside ; 
and by the light of the torches which the domestics had car- 
ried out, Don Estevan and his suite could be seen riding up 
to the entrance of the hacienda. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ROSARITA. 

On the route from La Poza it had fallen to the lot of 
Cuchillo and Tiburcio to ride side by side, but for all this 
few words had passed between them. Although Cuchillo 
had not the slightest idea of renouncing his dire design, he 
continued to hide his thoughts under an air of good humour — 
which when need be he knew how to assume. He had made 
several attempts to read the thoughts of the young gambu- 
sino, but the latter was on his guard, seeking in his turn to 
identify Cuchillo with the assassin of his father. No oppor- 
tunity olfered, however ; and in this game of mutual espion- 
age, neither had the advantage. Nevertheless, an instinctive 
and mutual hatred became established between the two, and 
before the day’s journey was over, each regarded the other 
as a mortal foe. Cuchillo was more than ever determined to 
execute his hellish purpose — since a crime lessor more would 
be nothing to him — while Tiburcio, keenly remembering the 
oath which he had made to his adopted mother, was resolved 
on keeping it, and only awaited the time when he should be 


ROSARITA. 


137 


sure of the assassin. We need scarcely add that Tiburcio, 
in the accomplishment of his vow, had no thought of playing 
the assassin. No. Whenever and wherever the murderer 
should be found, he was to die by Tiburcio’s hand ; but only 
in fair and open fight. 

But there were other painful reflections that occupied 
Tiburcio’s mind during the journey. The nearer he ap- 
proached the object of his love the greater seemed to be the 
distance between them. Though a man may hope to obtain 
what he only wishes for in a moderate way, yet when any- 
thing is ardently yearned after, the obstacles appear insur- 
mountable. Hence the secret of many a heroic resolution. 
When Tiburcio was reclining by the well of La Poza, his 
sweet dream hindered him from thinking of these obstacles ; 
but now that the journey was nearly ended, and he drew 
near to the grand hacienda, his spirits fell, and a feeling of 
hopelessness took possession of his soul. Hence it was that 
he formed the resolution to put an end to the painful sus- 
pense, which he had now a long time endured ; and that very 
night, if possible, he intended to ascertain his position in the 
eyes of Dona Rosarita. Come what might, he resolved to 
ask that question, whose answer might render him at once 
the happiest or the most miserable of men. 

When Tiburcio had first met Dona Rosarita, with her 
father and his servants, in the depth of the forest, he knew 
nothing of the rank of the party thus wandering astray. 
Even during the two happy days in which he acted as their 
guide, he was ignorant of the name of the beautiful young 
girl, to whom his eyes and his. heart rendered a continual 
homage. He therefore permitted himself to indulge in those 
pleasant dreams which have their origin in a hopeful love. 
It was only after he had learned the quality of his fellow 
travellers — that the young lady was the daughter of the 
opulent proprietor, Don Augustin Pena — it was only o* 


138 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


ascertaining this that Tiburcio perceived the folly of his aspi 
rations, and the distance that lay between him and the object 
of his love. If then the secret, so unexpectedly revealed to 
him, had given him a desire for the possession of riches, it 
was not for the sake of being rich. No ; a nobler object in- 
spired him — one more in keeping with his poetic character. 
He desired riches only that with them he might bridge over 
the chasm that separated him from Rosarita. 

Unhappily he could not hide from himself the too evident 
fact that he was not the sole possessor of the secret. 

All at once it occurred to him, that the expedition to 
which he found himself thus accidentally attached, could 
have no other object than this very placer of the Golden 
Valley. Most likely the very man who shared the secret 
with him — the murderer of Marcos Arellanos — was among 
the men enrolled under the orders of the chief Don Estevan. 
The ambiguous questioning of Cuchillo, his comprehension 
of events, the stumbling of his horse, with other slighter 
indications, appeared to throw some light upon the obscurity 
of Tiburcio’s conjectures ; but not enough. How was he 
(Tiburcio) to arrive at a complete understanding ? 

A still more painful uncertainty pressed upon his spirit, as 
they*approached the dwelling of Don Augustin. What 
reception would he meet with from Doha Rosarita ? he, a 
poor gambusino — without resources, without family — poorly 
dressed even — a mere follower, confounded with the com- 
mon mob of adventurers who composed the expedition ? 
Sad presentiments were passing in his mind, as the caval- 
cade, of which he formed so humble an appendage, arrived 
at the palisade enclosure of the hacienda. 

The gates were soon open to receive them; and the 
moment after Don Augustin himself welcomed the travellers 
at the front entrance of the mansion. With that ease and 
elegance, almost peculiar to Spanish manners, he received 


HOSARITA. 


139 


Don Estcvan and the Senator, while the cordiality with 
which he welcomed Tiburcio appeared to the young man a 
happy omen. 

The travellers all dismounted. Cuchillo remained outside 
— partly out of respect to his chief and partly to look after 
his horse. As to Tiburcio, he had not the same motives for 
acting thus, and therefore entered along with Don Estevan 
and Tragaduros, his face pale and his heart beating audibly. 

The room into which they had been shown was the grand 
sala already described, and in which certain preparations had 
been made for a magnificent banquet. But Tiburcio saw 
nothing of all this. His eyes beheld only one object — for 
there stood a beautiful girl whose lips rendered paler the 
carnation red of the granadillas, and the hue of whose cheeks 
eclipsed the rosy tint of the sandias , scattered profusely 
over the tables. It was Rosarita herself. A silken scarf 
covered her head, permitting the thick plaits of her dark 
hair to shine through its translucent texture, and just encir- 
cling the outline of her oval face. This scarf, hanging down 
below the waist, but half-concealed her white rounded arms, 
and only partially hindered the view of a figure of the most 
elegantly voluptuous tournure. Around her waist another 
scarf of bright scarlet formed a sort of cincture or belt, leav- 
ing its long fringed ends to hang over the skirt of her silken 
robe, and blending its colours with those of the light veil 
that fell down from her shoulders. It was a costume that 
seemed well-suited to her striking beauty, and the effect of 
the coup d'ceil upon the heart of poor Tiburcio was at once 
pleasant and embarrassing. 

Notwithstanding the gracious smile with which she 
acknowledged his presence, there was a certain hauteur 
about the proffered welcome — as if it was a mere expression 
of gratitude for the service he had formerly rendered. 

Tiburcio observed this with a feeling of chagrin ; and 


140 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


sighed as he contrasted her cold formality of speech, with 
the abandon and freedom of their former relations. But he 
could not help noticing a still greater contrast when he 
looked at his own poor garments, and compared them with 
the elegant costumes of his two travelling companions. 

While Don Estevan was entertaining his host with some 
account of what had happened on their journey, the Senator 
appeared to have eyes only for the beautiful Rosarita — upon 
whom he was not slow in lavishing a string of empty compli- 
ments. 

The young girl appeared to Tiburcio to receive these 
compliments with a smile very different from that she had 
accorded to himself ; he also observed, with a feeling of bit- 
terness, the superior easiness of manner in which those whom 
he regarded as his rivals addressed themselves to her. 
With anguish he noticed the colour become more vivid upon 
her cheeks ; while the heaving of her bosom, as the scarf 
rose and fell in regular vibrations, did not escape the keen 
glance of jealousy. In fact the young girl appeared to 
receive pleasure from these gallantries, like a village belle 
who listens to the flatteries of some grand lord, at the same 
time that a voice from within whispers her that the sweet 
compliments she is receiving are also merited. 

Don Estevan was not unobservant of this by-play that was 
passing around him. He easily read in the expressive looks 
of Tiburcio the secret of his heart, and involuntarily con- 
trasted the manly beauty of the young man with the ordinary 
face and figure of the Senator. As if from this he appre- 
hended some obstacle to his secret projects, more than once 
his dark eyebrows became contracted, and his eyes shone 
with a sombre fire. 

By little and little he ceased to take part in the conversa- 
tion, and at length appeared wrapped in a profound medita- 
tion. Insensibly also an air of melancholy stole over the 


ROSARITA. 


141 


features of Rosarita As for Don Augustin and the Senator 
they appeared at once to be on good terms with each other ; 
and carried on the conversation without permitting it to flag 
for a moment. 

Just then Cuchillo, accompanied by Baraja, entered to 
pay their respects to the master of the hacienda. Their 
entrance within the sala of course created some slight disar- 
rangement in the tableaux of the dramatis personae already 
there. This confusion gave Tiburcio an opportunity to carry 
out a desperate resolution he had formed, and profiting by 
it, he advanced nearer to Rosarita. 

“ I will give my life,” said he to her in a side whisper, 
“ for one moment alone with you. I wish to speak of an 
affair of the highest importance.” 

The young girl regarded him for a moment with an air of 
astonishment, further expressed by a disdainful movement of 
.he lip ; although, considering their former relations, and 
also the free familiarity of Mexican manners, she might have 
been expected to have excused his freedom. Tiburcio stood 
waiting her reply in a supplicating attitude, and as every- 
thing seemed spontaneous with her, he had not long to wait. 
She answered in a few words : 

“ To-night then — at ten o’clock I shall be at my window.” 

Scarcely had the thrilling tones of her voice ceased to 
vibrate on the ear of Tiburcio, when supper was announced, 
and the guests were shown into another room. Here a table, 
splendidly set out, occupied the middle of the apartment, 
above which hung a great chandelier fitted with numerous 
waxen candles : these gave out a brilliant and cheerful light, 
that was reflected from hundreds of shining vessels of mas- 
sive silver of antique forms, arranged upon the table below. 

The upper end of the table was occupied by the host him- 
self and his principal guests. His daughter sat on his left 
hand, while Don Estevan was placed upon the right. Aftei 


142 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


them, the Senator and the chaplain, and Pedro Diaz. At the 
lower end were seated Tiburcio, Cuchillo, Barajaand Oroche. 

The chaplain pronounced the beneclicite. Although it was 
no longer the same jumbling formula, sans fa$on , which he 
had used at the death-bed of the widow of Arellanos, yet 
the air of mock solemnity and unction with which the grace 
was uttered, recalled to the heart of Tiburcio that sad 
souvenir, which recent events had for a time caused him tc 
forget. 

Cheerfulness soon reigned around the table. The expedi- 
tion was talked of, and toasts drunk to its success. Vast 
silver goblets of antique shape were used for wine glasses, 
and these passing rapidly from hand to mouth, soon pro- 
duced an abundance of good humour among the guests. 

“ Gentlemen !” said Don Augustin, when the festive scene 
was near its end, “ before retiring I have the honour to invite 
you all to a hunt of the wild horse on my estate — which is to 
come off early in the morning.” 

Each of the guests accepted the invitation, with that aban- 
don natural to people who have made a good supper. 

With regard to Tiburcio, jealousy was devouring him. 
He scarce ate of the rich viands placed before him. He kept 
his eyes constantly fixed upon Don Estevan, who, during the 
supper appeared to pay marked attentions to Rosarita, and 
for every one of which Tiburcio thanked him with a look of 
hatred. As soon as the supper was ended, the young man 
silently left the room and repaired to the chamber that had 
been assigned to him for the night. 

At an early hour — for such was the custom of the hacienda 
— all the guests had retired to their sleeping apartments — • 
even the domestics were no longer to be seen in the great 
hall ; and a profound silence reigned throughout the vast 
building, as if all the world had gone to rest. But all the 
world was not yet asleep. 


THE ASSIGNATION. 


149 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE ASSIGNATION. 

Atone ir his chamber, Tiburcio awaited impatiently the 
hour name£ by Rosarita. From his window he cast a dis- 
tracted glance over the plain that stretched away from the 
walls of the hacienda. The moon was up in the heavens, 
and the road leading to Tubac appeared under her light shin- 
ing like a vast ribbon extended through the middle of the 
forest. The forest itself appeared asleep ; not even a breath 
stirred the leaves of the trees, and the only sounds he heard 
were those caused by the half wild herds that wandered 
through its glades. Now and then the bellowing of a bull 
denoted the uneasiness of the animal — perhaps from the 
presence of those terrible night robbers, the puma and 
jaguar. There was one other sound that reached the ear of 
Tiburcio, but this appeared to proceed from some part of the 
hacienda itself. It was the tinkling of a mandolin. The hour 
was appropriate to amorous reflections, as well as to thoughts 
of a graver character, and both presented themselves at that 
moment to the spirit of Tiburcio. Like all those whose life 
has been passed amid the depths of the desert, there was at 
the bottom of his heart a certain poetic temperament, at the 
same time that his soul exhibited that energetic vigour 
required by the dangers which surround such a life of soli- 
tude. His present position then was perfectly appropriate to 
this double character. His love was unreciprocated — the 
coolness of Rosarita, almost assured him of the painful fact — 


144 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


and some secret presentiment told him that he was encom- 
passed by enemies. 

While thus sadly reflecting on his situation, an object came 
under his eyes that attracted his attention. It was the gleam 
of a fire, which appeared to be kindled under cover of the 
forest at no great distance from the hacienda. The light was 
partly eclipsed by that of the moon, but still it could be 
traced by the greater redness of its rays, as they trembled 
mysteriously on the silver foliage of the trees. It denoted 
the halting-place of some traveller. 

“ So near the hacienda!” muttered Tiburcio, in entering 
upon a new series of reflections. “ What can it mean ? 
Why have these travellers not come here to demand hospi- 
tality ? They have certainly some reason for keeping them- 
selves at a distance ? They may be unknown friends to me, 
for heaven often sends such to those who stand in need of 
them. Cuchillo, Don Estevan, and this pompous Senator, all 
appear to be my enemies and all are secure under this roof! 
why might not these travellers, who appear to shun it for 
that very reason prove friends to me ?” 

The hour of rendezvous had at length arrived. Tiburcio 
took up his serape and his knife — the last, the only weapon 
he had — and prepared to go out from his chamber without 
making any noise. A fearful conflict of emotions was passing 
in his bosom ; for he knew that in a few minutes would be 
decided the question of his happiness or misery. Before 
leaving his chamber, he looked once more through the win- 
dow in the direction of the forest fire. It was still gleaming 
in the same place. 

While the lover, with cautious tread and wildly beating 
heart, was silently traversing the long gallery, and pass- 
ing round to that side upon which opened the window of 
liosarita, other scenes were passing elsewhere that must now 
be detailed. 


THE ASSIGNATION. 


145 


Since his arrival at the hacienda, Don Estevan, in piesence 
of the other guests, had scarce found an opportunity to speak 
with the hcbciendado on business that concerned both of 
them. Only for one moment had they been alone ; and tnen 
the Spaniard had briefly related to Don Augustin the con- 
tract he had entered into with Cuchillo. When Don Estevan 
mentioned the secret of the Golden Valley, the haciendado 
appeared to make a slight gesture, as of disappointment, but 
their short dialogue ended abruptly by a promise to return 
to the subject at a later hour of the night. 

Don Estevan awaited until all the other guests had retired 
to their chambers. Then drawing the Senator into the bay 
of one of the large windows of the sala, he requested him 
to look up at the stars that were shining in all their brilliance 
in the blue sky above. 

“See!” said he, pointing to a particular constellation. 
“ That is the Chariot that has risen above the eastern ho- 
rizon. Do you perceive a single star farther down, which 
scarce shines through the vapor? That is the emblem of 
your star, which at present pale, to-morrow may be in the 
ascendant, and gleam more brightly than any of those that 
compose the brilliant cortege of the Chariot .” 

“ What mean you, Sefior Arechiza ?” 

“ I shall tell you presently. Perhaps the hour is nearer 
than you think when you may be the future master of this 
hacienda, by a marriage with the charming daughter of its 
present owner, who is to be its heiress. Come presently to 
my apartment. The conversation which I am about to have 
with Don Augustin must be decisive, and I shall let you know 
the result.” 

With these words the Spaniard and the Senator parted — 
the heart of the latter beating at the same time with hope 
and fear. 


7 


148 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Don Estevan now awaited the haciendado, who the moment 
after came up to him. 

The proprietor of the Hacienda del Venado, as has already 
been seen, had given to the Spaniard more than an ordinary 
welcome. His politeness to him when in presence of wit- 
nesses, was even less respectful than when the two were 
alone. On his side Don Estevan appeared to accept the 
homage of the other as if it were due to him. There was in 
his polite condescension towards the rich proprietor, and in 
the deference of the latter towards him, something resembling 
the relation that might be supposed to exist between a power- 
ful sovereign and one of his noble vassals. 

It was not until after reiterated requests — orders they 
might almost be called — that Don Augustin consented to be 
seated in the presence of the other — whereas the Spaniard 
had flung himself into a fauteuil on the moment of entering 
the chamber, and with the most perfect abandon. 

The haciendado waited silently for Don Estevan to speak. 

“ Well, what do you think of your future son-in-law ?” 
inquired the Spaniard. “I presume you never saw him 
before ?” 

“Never,” answered Don Augustin. “But if he was even 
less favoured by nature than he is, that would make no 
obstacle to our projects.” 

“ I know him ; he only needs to be known to prove that 
he has in him the stuff of a gentleman, besides being a sena- 
tor of the illustrious congress of Arispe.” 

The Spaniard pronounced these words with a slight smile 
of contempt. 

“ But, senor,” continued he, “ that is not the difficulty, 
the important matter is whether your daughter will find him 
to her liking.” 

“ My daughter will act according to my wish,” said the 
haciendado. 


THE ASSIGNATION. 


14 * 


“ B»: supposing her heart is not free?” 

“ The heart of Rosarita is free, Senor Don Estevan ; how 
could it be otherwise — she whose life has been spent in the 
midst of these deserts ?” 

“ And what about this ragged young fellow, this Tiburcio 
Arellanos, whom you appear to know ? he is in love with 
your daughter ?” 

“ I have been made aware of it this very morning.” 

“ If it is only a few hours, then, since you have been 
apprised of the secret of his passion, surely that of your 
daughter cannot have to this time escaped you ?” 

“ The truth is,” answered Don Augustin, smiling, “ that I 
understand better how to follow the traces of an Indian, and 
read in the countenance of a savage his most secret thoughts, 
than to look into the heart of a young girl. But I repeat it, 
I have reason to believe that my daughter’s heart is free of 
any such affection. I do not apprehend any difficulty in this 
regard. I dread an obstacle of a more important character 
— I mean an obstacle to the expedition you are about to con- 
duct into the desert.” 

Here the haciendado communicated to Don Estevan the 
particulars which the monk had gathered at the death-bed of 
the widow of Arellanos, and which seemed to produce a 
strong impression on the Spaniard; but although the con- 
versation continued for some time longer, I shall not here 
detail what was said, but return to the Senator, who with 
anxious heart was now awaiting Don Estevan in the apart- 
ment which had been assigned to the latter. 


US 


1HE WOOD-RANGERS. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE DUKE D’AEMADA. 

The chamber set apart for the Senor Don Estevan de 
Arechiza was undoubtedly the best in the house ; and, not- 
withstanding the little progress that luxury has made in tho 
state of Sonora, was furnished with considerable elegance. 

In this chamber Don Estevan found the Senator pacing to 
and fro, with an air that bespoke him a prey to the most 
vivid emotions. 

“Well, Senor Don Yicente !” began Arechiza, who ap- 
peared to make light of the impatience of h\s protege, “what 
do you think of the daughter of our host ? have I exaggerated 
her beauty ?” 

“ Oh, my friend !” exclaimed the Senator, with all that 
vivacity of pantomimic gesture so characteristic of the South, 
“ the reality far exceeds the imagination. She is an angel ! 
even in our country, famous for its beautiful women, Dona 
Rosarita is certainly loveliest of all.” 

“ And richest too,” added the Spaniard, with a smile. 

“ Who would have expected to find, in the middle of the 
desert, such an accomplished beauty? such youthful fresh- 
ness ! Such charms were created to shine in a far higher 
sphere !” 

“ At the court of a king, for instance,” carelessly rejoined 
Arechiza. 

“ Oh ! Senor Don Estevan !” again exclaimed the Senator 
in an earnest voice, “ do not keep me in suspense ; the divine, 
the rich Dona Rosarita — is it possible I am to have her for 
my wife ?” 


THE DUKE D ARMADA. 


149 


“ One word from me, one promise from you, and the thing 
is done. I have her father’s word. Within fifteen days you 
may be the husband of his daughter.” 

“Agreeable as easy.” 

“A little later you will be rich.” 

“No harm in that.” 

“ Later still you will be a grand proprietor.” 

“ Oh ! it is magnificent. Carramba ! Senor de Arechiza, 
it is a perfect cataract of felicities to be lavished upon my 
head — it is a dream ! it is a dream !” shouted the Senator, as 
he strode to and fro across the floor. 

“ Lose no time then in making it a reality,” replied Don 
Estevan. 

“ But is the time so pressing ?” inquired the Senator, sud- 
denly pausing m his steps. 

“ Why this question ? is it possible to be too quick in 
obtaining happiness ?” 

The Senator appeared thoughtful, and for a moment pre- 
sented an aspect of embarrassment, in strange contrast to his 
previous looks. He replied after a a pause — 

“The fact is, Don Estevan, I am willing to marry an 
heiress whose wealth, as is usually the case, would compen- 
sate for her ugliness. In this case it is the very beauty of 
the lady that confuses me.” 

“ Perhaps she does not please you ?” 

“ On the contrary, so much happiness awes me. It ap- 
pears to me, for a reason which I cannot divine, that some 
sad disappointment lurks under the seductive prospect.” 

“ Ah ! just as I expected,” answered Don Estevan ; “ it is 
the human heart. I knew you would make some objection 
of this ]dnd, but I thought you were more a man of the world 
than to trouble yourself about the past with such a splendid 
fortune before you. Ah ! my poor Despilfarro,” added the 
Spaniard, with a laugh, “ I thought you were more advanced.* 


150 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“But why, Don Estevan?” inquired the Senator, intend* 
ing to give a proof of his high diplomatic capacity, — “ Why 
is it, entre nous , that you desire to lavish this treasure of 
beauty — to say nothing of her grand wealth — upon another, 
while you yourself — ” 

“ While I myself might marry her,” interrupted the 
Spaniard. “ Is that what you mean to say ? Suppose I have 
no wish to get married. I had that desire long ago, like the 
rest of the world. My history has been like a great many 
others ; that is, my sweetheart married another. It is true 
I adopted the means to re — to console myself, and quickly 
too,” added Arechizo, with a dark scowl. “ But who do 
you think I am, Don Yicente Tragaduros?” 

“ W T ho are you ! why Don Estevan de Arechiza, of 
course !” 

“ That does honour to your penetration,” said the 
Spaniard, with a disdainful smile. “ Well, then, since I have 
already demanded the hand of Dona Rosarita for the illustri- 
ous senator Tragaduros y Despilfarro, of course I cannot now 
take his place.” 

“But why, senor, did you not make the demand on your 
own account ?” 

“Why, because, - my dear friend, were this young lady 
three times as beautiful, and three times as rich as she is, she 
would neither be beautiful enough, nor rich enough for me.” 

Despilfarro started with astonishment. 

“ Eh ! and who are you then, senor, may I ask in my 
turn ?” 

“ Only, as you have said, Don Estevan Arechiza,” coolly 
replied the Spaniard. 

The Senator made three or four turns across the room, 
before he could collect his thoughts ; but in obedience to 
the distrust that had suddenly sprung up within him, he 
r turned : 


THE DUKE D’ ARMADA. 


151 


“ There is something in all this I cannot explain, and when 
I can’t explain a thing I can’t understand it.” 

“ Good logic,” exclaimed Don Estevan, in a tone of rail* 
lery, “ but am I really mistaken about you, my dear Senator ? 
I did you the honor to believe you above certain prejudices; 
and even if there was anything in the past life of the beauti* 
fill Rosarita — for instance, any prejudice to be trampled under 
foot — is a million of dowry, besides three millions of expec- 
tation, nothing in your eyes ?” 

Don Estevan put this question for the purpose of sounding 
the morality of the man, or rather to try the strength of a 
tool, which he meant to make use of. 

Despilfarro returned no reply. 

“Now, then, I await your answer,” said Don Estevan, 
after a pause, appearing to take pleasure in the Senator’s 
embarrassment. 

“ Upon my word, Don Estevan,” replied Despilfarro, “ you 
are cruel to mystify one in this manner. I — I — Carramba ! 
it is very embarrassing.” 

Don Estevan interrupted him. This hesitation on the part 
of Despilfarro, told the Spaniard what he wished to know. 
An ironical smile played upon his lips, and laying aside his 
pleasantry, he resumed in a serious tone : 

“ Listen to me, Tragaduros ! It would be unworthy of a 
gentleman to continue longer this badinage where a lady’s 
reputation is concerned. I can assure you, then, that the 
past life of the Dona Rosarita is W thout a stain.” 

The Senator breathed freely. 

“And now,” continued Don Estevan, “it is necessary that 
you give me your full confidence, and I will set you an exam- 
ple by giving mine with a perfect frankness : the success of 
the noble cause I have embraced depends upon it. First, 
then, hear who I am. Arechiza is only a borrowed appella- 
tion. As to my real name — which you shall soon know — ] 


152 


THE WOOD-RANGEKS. 


made oath in my youth, that no woman, however rich or 
beautiful, should share it with me ; therefore, now that my 
hair is grey do you think that I should be likely to break the 
oath I have so long kept ? Although a wife, such as I pro- 
pose for you, may ofttimes be a stepping-stone to ambition, 
she is oftener an obstacle.” 

As he said this, Don Estevan rose, and in his turn paced 
the floor with an agitated air. Some traces of distrust were 
still perceptible upon the countenance of the Senator — they 
were noticed by him. 

“You wish for a more precise explanation?” said he; 
“ you shall have it.” 

The Spaniard approached the window and closed the shut 
ters — as if fearful that their conversation might be heard 
outside. He then sat down again, and requested the Sena- 
tor to be seated near him. 

Tragaduros watched him with a lively curiosity, at the 
same time lowering his eyes whenever they met the fiery 
glances of the Spaniard. 

The latter appeared suddenly to become transformed, as if 
looking grander and nobler. 

“Now Senor Senator !” began he, “I am going to make 
known to you some secrets sufficient to turn your head.” 

The Senator trembled. 

“When the tempter carried the Son of Man to the top of 
a mountain, and promised him all the kingdoms of the earth 
if he would fall down and worship him, he scarce offered 
him more than I am offering to the Senator of Arispe. As 
the tempter, then, I lay at your feet honors, power, and 
riches, if you will subscribe to my conditions.” 

The solemnity of this exordium, and the imposing manner 
of Don Estevan, following so closely upon the jocular mien 
he had hitherto exhibited, made a painful impression upon 
the mind of the Senator. There was a short moment in 


THE DUKE D’ ARMADA. 


153 


which he regretted being so advanced in his opinions, and 
during this time the great dowry of Rosarita and her rosy 
lips had but slight prestige for him. 

“ It is now twenty years,” continued the Spaniard, “ sinct 
I took up my real vocation in the world. Previous to that 
time, I believed myself made for domestic life, and indulged 
in those absurd dreams of love natural to young hearts. An 
illusion soon destroyed — an evil hour — an accident showed 
me the deception ; and I found out that I was made for ambi- 
tion — nothing more. I have therefore sought for glory and 
honour to satisfy my desires, and I have won them. I have 
conquered the right to stand uncovered in the presence of 
the king of Spain. Chevalier of the Order of St. James of the 
Sword, I have taken part in the royal ceremonies of the white 
cloak and red sword / and I may say that for me fame has 
been no idle illusion. Chevalier also of Carlos III., I have 
shared with the royal princes the title of the Grand Cross. 

I have won successively the Order of St. Ferdinand, of St. 
Hermengildo, and the Golden Fleece of Calatrava. These 
honours, although coveted by all, were for me but sterile 
consolations.” 

This enumeration, made without the slightest show of 
ostentation, caused the Senator to regard the speaker with 
an air of respectful astonishment. Don Estevan continued : 

“Wealth followed close upon these honours. Rich appa- 
nages , added to the fortune I derived from my ancestors, 
soon left far behind me, the time when, as a simple cadet of 
my family, I was worth nothing but my sword. Now I was 
rich, opulent, and — will I tell you? — I was still far from 
being content. My efforts continued ; and I was made 

Comte de Villamares, and afterwards Duke de Armada ” 

“ Oh ! Seiior Duke,” interrupted Despilfarro, in an hum- ' 

ble voice, “ permit me — but — I ” 

“ I have not yet finished,” calmly continued the Spaniard ; 
7 * 


THE TVOOD-RANGERS. 


354 

“ when 5 ou have beard al], you will no longer doubt my 
words. Notwithstanding your mistrust, senor, I am still 
nothing more than the secret agent of a prince, and I desire 
to remain in your eyes, as ever, the simple gentleman Don 
Estevan de Arechiza — nothing more. It is necessary, how- 
ever, that this distrust of me should not manifest itself again ; 
for since you are presently to know the object which I am 
pursuing, you will be privy to my most secret thoughts.’’ 

The Senator continued to listen in the most respectful 
silence. 

“ As I have said, then, I followed ambition for twenty years 
for its own sake ; or to speak more truly, I passed twenty 
years of my life to destroy a painful souvenir, at the same 
time that I was pursuing the path to fame. I fancied that in 
the middle of a turbulent life, this souvenir would in time be 
effaced from my memory. The favourite of a prince, the 
expectant heir to one of the first thrones in Christendom — 
elevated to the highest places of power — wealth prodigally 
lavished upon me — I hoped to be able to forget that terrible 
souvenir. Yain hope !” added the speaker in a solemn voice : 
“Alas! Nothing can banish remorse. The bloody sword 
of St. James w as no idle symbol in my hands ; for remorse 
lends to ambition a fearful activity — like a voice continually 
crying, ‘ On — on for ever!’ ” 

Don Estevan paused, and for a time remained silent, during 
which the Senator regarded him with a timid look, at the 
same time admiring the imposing and solemn dignity of his 
countenance. 

“ But wdiere to go on ?” continued the speaker ; “ what 
object to follow next? Into what new course might I preci- 
pitate this torrent of ambition that was boiling within me ? 
At length a new incident offered itself, and gave me a fresh 
opportunity for action — an opportunity to strive and combaf 
—for in my case, to struggle and fight is to forget. 


THE T5T7KE D’ ARMADA. 


155 


“ In all likelihood you have scarce heard of our political 
troubles, Don Vicente ? I am aware that all the kingdoms 
of Europe might be shaken to their bases, without your 
knowing anything of the matter, in this out of the way cor- 
ner of the world. Well, then, I shall make known to you 
what occurred. 

“ It is now about two years since the king of Spain — by 
a total violation of the Salic law, hitherto observed by all 
his ancestors — violently cut off the succession to the throne 
in the person of his brother Don Carlos; and by this act 
kindled the fires of civil war throughout the kingdom. The 
Infanta Isabella was declared heiress to the crown, to the 
exclusion of her uncle, the legal heir. This prince it was of 
whom I spoke, and who is my august patron and protector. 
I did everything in my power to assuage the mortal grief 
that this unexpected event naturally caused to the man, 
whom I above all others have reason to esteem. 

“ Amidst the consolations which I offered him, and the 
plans which I proposed, one design of a gigantic nature 
offered itself to my imagination. True, it presented the 
prospect of countless dangers, and obstacles almost insur- 
mountable ; but for this very reason I adopted it. 

“ My dream, then, is to conquer for my master a kingdom 
as vast as the one of which he has been wrongfully deprived ; 
to restore to him one of the brightest jewels of that Trans- 
atlantic crown, which his ancestors once so gloriously wore. 
I dream of conquering a kingdom — and that kingdom once 
conquered, I, a simple gentleman, intend to present it to the 
true heir of the Spanish monarchy — Don Carlos de Bour- 
bon ! 

“Now, do you believe, Senor Senator, that Don Estevan 
de Arechiza has the power to bestow upon others, and with- 
out regretting it, the beauty and wealth of the daughter of 
a Mexican haciendado?” 


156 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


The Spaniard pronounced these last words with an ail 
of proud tranquillity, and then remained silent, awaiting their 
effect upon his listener. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE NEW KINGDOM. 

The Mexican senator, with his contracted, or rather egois- 
tic views, was struck dumb by the gigantic and daring design 
of his companion. He could only exclaim, as he respectfully 
pressed the hand which the Spaniard held out to him : 

“ Oh, Don Estevan — if you permit me still to give you this 
modest title — I regret my suspicions ; and for the happiness 
which you offer me, for the grand perspective which you 
open before me, I promise you my life, my heart, but ” 

“But! another suspicion?” asked Don Estevan, with a 
smile. 

“No, not a suspicion of you, but a fear of some one else. 
Have you noticed the young man whom chance brought into 
our company ? I have a secret presentiment that there is 
something between him and Dona Rosarita. He is young — 
he is good looking — and they appear to have known each 
other a long while.” 

“What!” exclaimed Don Estevan, “jealous of this ragged 
rustic ?” 

“ I avow,” replied the Senator, “ that I cannot help it. I 
noticed two or three times their eyes fixed upon each other 
with a strange expression.” 

“ Make yourself easy about that. I know, for certain — and 
from Don Augustin himself I have had my information — that 
the heart of his daughter is free. Besides, her vanity alon® 


THE NEW KINGDOM. 


157 


would hinder her from any fancy for this droll fellow, who 
appears to have all the pride of a Spanish beggar. He shall 
be watched; and, should he have the impudence to carry hia 
pretensions so high, it will be an easy matter to send him 
about his business.” 

In pronouncing the last words the countenance of Don 
Estevan appeared for a moment to wear a troubled expres- 
sion, and he could not hinder himself from adding : 

“I have myself remarked what you say, but let us not 
dwell upon chimerical fears. Listen to me, Don Vicente, 
while I explain more categorically the object of which I have 
been speaking, in order that you may understand fully why 
I wish to reckon upon your assistance. I have not yet told 
you — either what resources I have, or the kingdom it is my 
design to conquer.” 

“ True enough,” assented Tragaduros, u you have not.” 

“The province then which I intend to transform into a 
kingdom is neither more nor less than this of Sonora.” 

“ What ! our republican state to be changed into a mon- 
archy !” exclaimed the Senator. “ Seiior Don Estevan, to 
attempt this will be to play with your life.” 

“ I know it.” 

“ But what resources do you count upon ?” 

“ Listen : Ten years ago I was in the Spanish army, and 
fought against the independence of your country in this very 
province. I then became acquainted with its resources — its 
incalculable richness — and when I quitted it to go home to 
Europe, I had a presentiment that some day I should again 
return to it-^as J have done. Chance at that time made me 
acquainted with Don Augustin, then occupied in amassing 
the vast wealth which to-day he so freely spends. I had the 
fortune to render him a service— to save his life, in fact, and 
prevent his house from being pillaged by the insurgents, for 
he did not conceal his sympathy for the Spanish cause I 


158 


TIIE WOOD-RANGERS. 


afterwards kept up with him a correspondence, and learnt 
that Sonora became every day more discontented with the 
federal government. I then designed my great plan, which 
was approved of by the prince, and at his desire I came over 
here. Don Augustin was among the first to whom I opened 
my purpose. He was flattered by the promises I was able 
to make in the name of my royal master, and at once placed 
his fortune at my disposal. 

“Notwithstanding the large pecuniary resources I have 
been able to dispose of, I am seeking to augment them still 
farther, and chance has favored me. While here in my for- 
mer campaign I made the acquaintance of an odd character 
— a young fellow who in turns betrayed botl royalists and 
republicans. My relations with him recall a somewhat droll 
occurrence. I found that he was guiding the regiment I 
commanded into an ambuscade of the insurgents, and I 
ordered him to be hung to the first tree we should meet with. 
Fortunately for him my men translated the order in its most 
literal sense ; and being at the time in the middle of vast 
savannahs entirely destitute of trees, the execution was held 
over, as it was an impossibility to perform it. The result 
was that in the middle of our marchings and countermarch- 
ings the fellow escaped ; and it appears did not, afterwards, 
hold any rancour towards me, since he has again offered his 
services to me. This fellow to-day goes by the name of 
Cuchillo. It was he whom I met at the village of Huerfano, 
where you saw us renew our acquaintance ; and at that inter- 
view he has made known to me the secret of an immense 
placer of gold — whither I intend to conduct my expedition. 
Besides ourselves, Cuchillo alone knows the object of this 
enterprise,” (the Spaniard did not mention the name of 
Tiburcio,) “ which is generally supposed to be merely a new 
expedition — like many others that have been got up to go 
gold seeking by chance. 


THE NEW KINGDOM. 


150 


“And now, Senor Senator,” continued Don Estevan, “yon 
need not proceed farther with us. You may remain here, 
where you will have an easy part to play, in making yourself 
agreeable to the fair Rosarita, while I am braving the perils 
of this unknown frontier. As for Cuchillo, if he attempt to 
play the traitor with me a second time, I shall take care to 
be a little more prompt in punishing him. 

“ The product of this expedition,” pursued the Spaniard, 
— “ of which, as leader, I shall be entitled to a fifth part — 
will be added to the resources I have already. The men who 
compose it will be easily converted into devoted partisans of 
our design ; and should it happen that the forces I expect 
from Europe should fail to come to hand in due time, these 
adventurers will serve a good purpose. But I have no fear 
for the want of followers. Europe is at the present moment 
over-crowded with people who lack employment : any enter- 
prise will be welcome to them ; and a leader in any part of 
the world needs only to speak the word for crowds to enrol 
themselves under his banner.” 

As he said this, Don Estevan paced the room, agitated by 
the grandeur of his thoughts. His dark eyes flashed with 
excitement, and his soul seemed inspired with a warlike 
ardour that caused him for awhile to forget the presence of 
the Senator. It was only after some minutes spent in this 
wild enthusiasm that he remembered an important fact — that 
in all projects such as he was engaged in, intrigue should be 
the precursor of open action ; and as this was to be the 
peculiar role which the Senator was expected to play, he 
again turned to address himself to this individual. 

“Meanwhile,” said he, “your tactics will be of a more 
pacific character. I take charge of the opeu fighting — while 
you manage the secret diplomacy of the affair. Your for. 
tune, restored to you by this opulent alliance, will enable you 
to get back the influence you have lost You will receive, 


100 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


with the daughter of Don Augustin, at least two hundred 
thousand dollars of dowry. Half of this you are to employ 
in making partisans in the Senate, and in what you are pleased 
to call your army . This sum you will not lose : it will be re- 
paid to you, and with usurious interest ; or if it never should, 
you still make a good thing of it. The end you will keep in 
view, is to detach the Senate of Sonora from the Federal 
alliance. You will find no lack of reasons for this policy. 
For instance, your State has now scarcely the privileges of a 
simple territory ; your interests differ entirely from those of 
the central States of the Republic. Every day your laws are 
becoming more centralized. The President, who deals with 
your finances, resides at a distance of seven hundred leagues 
from your capital — it is ridiculous! Besides, the funds of 
the treasury are misappropriated — the army badly paid, 
although you have to do your duty in raising the tax that is 
to pay it — a thousand grievances can be cited. Well, this 
will enable you to get up a pronunciamento , and before the 
news of your grito can reach the city of Mexico, and the 
Executive power there can send a force against you — aye, 
before the government troops could get half way to Sonora, 
more than two-thirds of them would desert. The others 
would come upon the ground, only to find the insurrectionary 
party too strong for them, and they themselves would b^ cer- 
tain to join us. 

“ Laws emanating from your own Senate — of which you 
yourself would have the control and guidance — laws suited 
to the manners and usages of your State, would soon become 
firmly established and respected, and Sonora would then be 
an independent government. This would be the first step 
and the most difficult. After that the rest would be easy 
enough ; and the gold which I should furnish will bring it 
about. The Senate and the army would call for a Eur opean 
prince to place himself at their head — one who speaks the 






















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By this light Cuchillo and Baraja — forgetful of all their promises and vows — were 
going on with the game, which had been so suddenly interrupted that mor nin g at 
the village of Huerfano. — Page 162. 


4 




THE NEW KINGDOM. 


131 

same language and professes the same religion as themselves 
This prince I have already provided. Now hear me, Dor 
Vicente ! as to your own share in this business. The Senator 
Despilfarro is already a rich man, with a lady for his wife of 
whom a prince might be proud. He will be made noble — a 
count — a Grandee of Spain. A lucrative post will attach him 
to the person of the new king, and nothing is to hinder him 
from rising to the very summit of his ambition. All this I 
promise on the part of your future sovereign, King Charles 
the First .” 

With these words the Spaniard finished his harangue. The 
Mexican Senator, fascinated by the riches and honours thus 
promised him, grasped the hand of the bold conspirator, at 
the same time crying out with enthusiasm, “ Viva! Viva 
Carlos el Primer o /” 

“Good!” rejoined Don Estevan, with a smile. “Don 
Carlos can count upon one powerful partisan already in 
Sonora, and there will soon be many. But it is getting late, 
Don Vicente, and I have yet much business to do before I 
can go to sleep. You will excuse me, then, if I bid good- 
night to you.” 

After exchanging the usual buenas noches , the Senator 
returned to his own chamber and couch, to dream ot iim 
future riches and grandeur. 


162 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


CHAPTER XXin. 

QUARRELSOME GAMESTERS. 

In a remote chamber of the hacienda, were lodged the fouf 
adventurers, Pedro Diaz, Oroche, Cuchillo, and Baraja. 
These gentlemen were not slow in becoming acquainted with 
one another, and this acquaintance was soon of the most 
familiar character. In the middle of the room in which all 
four were to pass the night, stood a strong oaken table, upon 
which, in an iron candlestick, was burning a long thin tallow 
candle, that gave forth a somewhat dim and doubtful light. 
By this light Cuchillo and Baraja — forgetful of all their pro- 
mises and vows — were going on with the game, which had 
been so suddenly interrupted that morning at the village of 
Huerfano. 

Pedro Diaz appeared to be merely an involuntary specta- 
tor; while Oroche, seated at one corner of the table, his 
right leg across his left, his elbow resting on his knee — the 
favourite attitude of mandolin players — accompanied his own 
voices he sang the boleros and fandangos then most in 
vogue among the inhabitants of the coast region. 

Wrapped as usual in his ragged cloak, Oroche appeared to 
have the true inspiration of an artist: since he could thus 
elevate himself upon the wings of music, above the vulgar 
consideration of the toilette, or the cleanliness and comfort 
of the person. A bottle of mezcal , already half empty, stood 
upon the table. From this the players occasionally helped 
themselves — as a finale to the elegant supper they had eaten, 


QUARRELSOME GAMESTERS. 


16S 


and to which Cuchillo, Baraja, and Oroche had done ampl6 
honour. Notwithstanding the frequent bumpers which 
Cuchillo had quaffed, he appeared to be in the worst of 
humour, and a prey to the most violent passions. His 
shaggy eyebrows, contracted by the play of these passions, 
added to the evil aspect of his physiognomy, rendering it 
even more sinister than common. Just then he was observed 
to cut the cards with particular care. He was not playing 
with' his friend Baraja for the mere sport of the thing; for 
a moiety of the half ounce he had received from Don Este* 
van had already gone into Baraja’s pockets, and Cuchillo wag 
in hopes that the attention which he had given to the cutting 
of the cards might change the luck that had hitherto been 
running against him. The careful cutting, however, went 
for nothing ; and once more the sum he had staked was swept 
into the pocket of his adversary. All at once Cuchillo flew 
off into a passion, scattering his hand of cards over the table. 

“Who the devil wants your music?” cried he to Oroche 
in a furious tone, “ and I myself, fool that I am, to play in 
this fashion — only credit when I win, and cash whenever I 
lose.” 

“You offend me, Senor Cuchillo,” said Baraja, “ my word 
has always passed for its value in cash.” 

“ Especially when you don’t happen to lose,” sneeringly 
added Cuchillo. 

“That is not a very delicate insinuation,” said Bar ja, 
gathering up the cards. “ Fye, fye ! Senor Cuchillo — to get 
angry about such a trifle ! I myself have lost half a hacienda 
at play — after being robbed of the other half— and yet I 
never said a word about it.” 

“ Didn’t you indeed ? what’s that to me ? I shall speak 
as I please, Senor Baraja, and as loudly as I please too,” 
added he, placing his hand upon the hilt of his knife. 

“Yes,” coolly answered Baraja, “I know you use words 


164 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


that cause your friends to drop dead / but these words are 
harmless at a distance — besides I have got a tongue as sharp 
as yours, Senor Cuchillo.” 

As Baraja said this, he drew his knife from its sheath — in 
which action he was imitated by his antagonist — and both 
placed themselves simultaneously in an attitude for fight. 

Oroche coolly took up his mandolin — which at the interfere 
ence of Cuchillo he had laid aside — and, like a bard of ancient 
times was preparing to accompany the combat with a chaunt, 
■when Diaz suddenly interposed between the two champions. 

“For shame, gentlemen !” cried he; “what! two men 
made to be mutual friends, thus to cut each other’s throats for 
a few paltry dollars ! on the eve too of becoming the owners 
of a hundred times as much ! Have I not understood you to 
say, Senor Cuchillo, that you were to be the guide of our 
expedition ? Your life is no more your own, then ; it belongs 
to us all, and you have no right to risk it. And you, Senor 
Baraja ! you have not the right to attempt the life of our 
guide. Come ! put up your knives, and let there be no more 
of this matter.” 

This speech recalled the two combatants to their senses. 
Cuchillo remembering the grand interest he had hr the suc- 
cess of the expedition, and perceiving that the risk of life 
was playing a little too high — for a combat of this sort 
usually ends in the death of one or the other — gave ready 
ear to the council of Diaz. Baraja, on his side, reflected that 
the dollars he had already pocketed might be better em- 
ployed than in defraying the expenses of his own funeral ; 
and on this reflection was equally ready to desist from his 
intention. 

“ Be it so, then !” cried Cuchillo, speaking first ; “ I sacri- 
fice my feelings to the common good.” 

“ And I,” said Baraja, “ I am willing to follow so noble an 
example. I disarm — but — I shall play no more.” 


QUARRELSOME GAMESTERS. 


16 * 


The knives were again stuck into their scabbards, and th« 
two adversaries mutually extended their hands to one ano- 
ther. 

At this moment, Diaz, by way of preventing any allusion 
to the recent quarrel, suddenly turning to Cuehillo, de- 
manded : 

“ Who, Senor Cuehillo, is this young man whom I saw 
riding by your side as you came up to the hacienda? Not- 
withstanding the friendship that appeared to exist between 
you and him, if I mistake not, I observed you regarding one 
another with an occasional glance of mistrust — not to say 
hostility. Was it not so ?” 

Cuehillo recounted how they had found Tiburcio half dead 
upon the road, and also the other circumstances, already 
known to the reader; but the question put by Diaz had 
brought the red colour into the face of the outlaw, for it re- 
called to him how his cunning had been outwitted by the 
young man, and also how he had been made to tremble a 
moment under Tiburcio’s menace. Writhing under these 
remembrances, he was now determined to make his ven- 
geance more secure, by enlisting his associates as accomplices 
of his design. 

“ It often happens,” said he, in a significant tone, “ that 
one man’s interest must be sacrificed to the common welfare- 
just as I have now done — does it not?” 

“ Without doubt,” replied several. 

“Well then,” continued Cuehillo, “when one has given 
himself, body and soul, to any cause, whatever it may be, it 
becomes his duty, as in my case, to put a full and complete 
constraint upon his affections, his passions, even his dearest 
interests— aye, even upon any scruples of conscience that 
might arise in an over delicate mind.” 

“ All the world knows that,” said Baraja. 

“ Just so, gentlemen. Well, I feel myself in that difficulty ; 


!66 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


I have a too timid conscience, I fear, and I want your opinions 
to guide me.” 

His audience maintained an imperturbable silence. 

“ Suppose, then,” continued the outlaw, “ there was a man 
whom you ail held in the highest esteem, but whose life com- 
promised the success of our expedition, what should be done 
With him ?” 

“As God lives,” cried Or oche, “I should be happy to 
find some occasion of sacrificing private interests to the com- 
mon good.” 

“ But is there such a man ?” inquired Diaz, “ and who may 
he be ?” 

“ It’s a long story,” replied Cuchillo, “ and its details con- 
dern only myelf — but there is such a man.” 

“Carajo!” exclaimed Oroche, “that is enough; he should 
be got rid of as speedily as possible.” 

“ Is that the advice of all of you ?” asked Cuchillo. 

“ Of course,” answered simultaneously Oroche and Baraja. 

Diaz remained silent, keeping himself out of this mysterious 
compromise. After a little, he rose from his seat, and under 
some pretext left the chamber. 

“Well, then, gentlemen,” said Cuchillo, addressing himseli 
to his two more facile comrades, “ you are fully of the opinion 
that the man should be got rid of? Let me tell you, then, 
that this man is no other than Tiburcio Arellanos.” 

“Tiburcio!” exclaimed the two acolytes. 

“Himself— and although, since he is one of my dearest 
friends, it goes sadly against my heart, I declare to you 
that his life may render abortive all the plans of our expedi- 
tion.” 

“ But,” interposed Baraja, “ wny may he not lose it ? — to- 
morrow in this hunt of wild horses there will be a thousand 
opportunities of his losing it ?” 

“ True enough,” said Cuchillo, in a solemn voice. “ It is 


TIBURCIO IN DANGER. 


167 


ot great importance he should not return from this hunt. 
Can I rely upon you, gentlemen ?” 

“ Blindly!” replied the two adventurers. 

The storm was gathering over the head of poor Tiburcio ; 
but danger threatened him from still another quarter ; and 
long before the expected hunt, that danger would be at its 
height. 

The three adventurers continued their conversation, and 
were entering more particularly into the details of their de- 
sign, when a knocking at the outer door interrupted 
sinister councils. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

TIBURCIO IN DANGER. 

Cuchillo opened the door, outside of which appeared 
one of the attendants of Don Estevan. Without entering, 
the man communicated his message — which was to Cuchillo 
himself— to the effect that Don Estevan awaited him in the 
garden. The outlaw, without reply, followed the servant, 
who conducted him to an alley between two rows of grana- 
dines, where a man wrapped in his cloak was pacing to and 
fro, apparently buried in a deep meditation. It was Don 
Estevan himself. 

The approach of Cuchillo interrupted his reverie, and a 
change passed over his countenance. Had Cuchillo not been 
preoccupied with his own thoughts and purposes of ven- 
geance, he might have observed on the features of the Span- 
iard an expression of disdainful raillery, that evidently cor 
cerned himself. 

w You have sent for me ?” said he to Don Estevan. 


166 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ You cannot otherwise than approve of my discretion,* 
began the Spaniard, without making answer. “ I have 
allowed you time enough to sound this young fellow — you 
know whom I mean. Well ! no doubt you have penetrated 
to the bottom and know all — you, whose perspicacity is only 
equalled by the tenderness of your conscience ?” 

There was an ascerbity in this speech which caused the 
outlaw to feel ill at ease, for it re-opened the wounds of his 
self-esteem. 

“ Well,” continued Don Estevan, “what have you learnt 
. Nothing,” replied Cuchillo. 

“ Nothing !” 

“No; the young man could tell me nothing, since he 
knew nothing himself. He has no secrets for me.” 

“ What ! does he not suspect the existence of the Golden 
Valley ?” 

“ He knows no more of it than of the Garden of Eden,” 
replied Cuchillo, with a confident swagger. 

“ What was bringing him to the hacienda, then — -for that 
is upon the route ? He must have some object in coming 
this way.” 

“ Oh yes ! — he came to ask Don Augustin to take him 
into his service as a vaquero.” 

“ It is evident,” said the Spaniard, in a tone of mockery, 
“that you have gained his full confidence and know all 
about him.” 

“ I flatter myself, my perspicacity ” 

“ Is only equalled by the tenderness of your conscience,” 
interrupted Don Estevan, still keeping up his tone of rail- 
lery. “ Well, but has this young man not confided to you 
any other secret ? You have had a long ride together, and 
an opportunity to talk of many things. For instance, has he 
said nothing to you about an affair of the heart ? — has h« 
not told you he was in love ?” 


TIBURCIO IN DANGER. 


169 


4 ■' 

“ Por Dios ! Who could Tiburcio be in love with in these 
deserts ? The poor devil is likely to think more of a good 
horse than a pretty girl.” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed the Spaniard, with a mocking laugh 
that sent a shivering through the frame of Cuchillo. “ Well! 
■well ! friend Cuchillo, your youth promised better than this. 
If your conscience is as callous as your perspicacity is obtuse 
— which God forbid — it is not likely to interfere with your 
sleep.” 

u What do you mean, senor ?” demanded Cuchillo, evi- 
dently confounded by the reproach. 

“ I fear, my friend, that in the only good action you have 
ever done, you have made a bad hand of it.” 

“ Good action !” repeated Cuchillo, embarrassed to know 
at what epoch of his life he had done such a thing. 

“ Yes — in saving this young man’s life.” 

“ But it was you who did that good action : as for me, it 
was only a lucrative one.” 

“ Be it so. I will lend it to you, notwithstanding the pro- 
verb which says we should only lend to the rich. But now 
hear what I have ascertained — I, who do not boast either of 
my scruples of conscience or of my perspicacity. This young 
man has in his pocket, at this moment, a written direction 
of the route to the Golden Valley; moreover, he is passion- 
ately in love with Dona Rosarita, for whom he would give 
all the gold in this valley, or all the gold in the world, and 
all the horses in Sonora, if he had them. Moreover, his 
object in coming to the Hacienda del Venado, was to make 
himself its future proprietor.” 

“ BJood and thunder!” cried Cuchillo, starting as if bitten 
by a snake — “ that cannot be — it is not possible I could be 
fooled in that manner by a child !” 

“ That child is a giant beside you, master Cuchillo,” coldly 
replied Arechiza. 


8 


170 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ It is impossible !” exclaimed the exasperated Cuchillo. 

“ Do you wish the proofs ? — if you do you shall have 
them — but I may tell you they are of a nature to make you 
shudder from the crown of your head to the soles of your 
feet.” 

“No matter; I should like to hear them,” said Cuchillo, 
in a suppressed voice. 

“I will not speak of your conscience — mark that well, 
Cuchillo ! for I know that it never shudders — nor yet shall I 
speak of your timidity, which I observed last night while you 
were in the presence of the jaguars — ” 

Don Estevan paused, to let his words have their full 
effect. It was his design to crush by his superiority the man 
whose fidelity he had a thousand reasons to suspect. 

“ Tiburcio,” continued he, “ is of a race — or appears to be 
of a race — that unites intelligence with courage; and you 
are his mortal enemy. Do you begin to understand 
me ?” 

“ No,” said Cuchillo. 

“ W ell, you will presently, after a few simple questions 
which I intend to ask you. The first is : — In your expedition 
with Arellanos, had you not a horse that stumbles in the left 
leg ?” 

“ Eh !” ejaculated Cuchillo, turning pale. 

“ A second question : — W ere they really Indians who 
murdered your companion ?” 

“ Perhaps it was me ?” replied the outlaw, with a hideous 
smile. 

“Third question: — Did you not receive, in a deadly 
struggle, a wound in the leg ? and fourth : Did you not 
carry upon your shoulders the dead body of Arellanos ?” 

“ I did — to preserve it from being mutilated by the 
Indians.” 

“ One more question : — Was it for this you fling the dead 


TIBUUCIO IN DANGER. 


171 


body into the neighbouring river — not quite dead, it may 

be ?” 

The beams of the moon, slanting through the leaves of 
the granadines, shone with a livid reflection on the face of 
the outlaw, who with haggard eyes listened, without com- 
prehending whence they came, to the proofs of a murder 
which he believed for ever buried in the desert. 

Cuchillo, when imparting to Don Estevan the knowledge 
of his marvellous secret, had of course taken care not to give 
in detail the exact manner by which he had himself become 
master of it ; he had merely stated such circumstances as 
•were necessary to convince the Spaniard of the importance 
of the discovery. It would be impossible to paint the stupe- 
fied expression of his countenance, as he listened to these 
interrogatories. The very desert itself had spoken ! 

“ Does Tiburcio know all this ?” he asked, with an ill-dis- 
sembled anxiety. 

“No ; but he knows that the assassin of his father had a 
horse like yours ; that he was wounded in the leg ; that he 
flung the dead body in the water. Of one matter only is he 
still ignorant — the name of the murderer. But now let me 
say to you ; if you give me the slightest cause to suspect 
your fidelity, I shall deliver the secret to this young man, 
who will crush you like a scorpion. Good blood never lies ; 
so I repeat it, Cuchillo ; no deception — no treason, or your 
life will answer for it !” 

“Well, as regards Tiburcio,” muttered Cuchillo to him- 
self, “ if you only keep the secret till this time to-morrow 
night, you may then shout it in his ears : I shall have no fear 
of his hearing you.” 

The outlaw was one of those characters who soon recover 
from a shock, similar to that he had just received. Almost 
on the instant he inquired, with impudent assurance : 

“But your Excellency has not proved to me that thin 


m 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


young fellow is in love with Dona Rosarita; and until I have 
proof of this I shall not doubt my penetration ” 

“ Hush !” interrupted the Spaniard ; “ I fancy I heat 
voices !” 

Both remained silent. In advancing across the garden, 
the two men had approached nearer to the walls of the 
building, and on that side of it which fronted the window 
belonging to the chamber of Rosarita. They were still at a 
considerable distance from the window itself ; but so tran- 
quil was the night, that sounds could be heard a long way 
off. As they stood to listen, a confased murmur of voices 
reached their ears — as of two persons engaged in conversa- 
tion — but the words could not be distinguished. 

“It is the voice of Tiburcio and Rosarita!” muttered the 
outlaw. 

“ Did I not tell you ? You may take that, I think, as an 
instalment of the proof you are desirous of having.” 

A reflection, at this moment, came into the mind of the 
Spaniard, that struck upon his spirit like a thunderbolt. It 
was this : — “ If the young girl, after all, is really in love with 
this fellow, what a dilemma ! I may have to renounce all 
idea of the marriage, which I had designed as the corner- 
stone of my vast edifice !” 

Don Estevan was the only one who at this time was aware 
of the real name and family of Tiburcio, and of course knew 
that he was not unworthy of the daughter of a Mexican 
haciendado. But it had never entered his mind that this 
young girl, who only regarded Tiburcio in the light of a poor 
gambusino, would think for a moment of reciprocating his 
passion. His ideas were suddenly altered, however, on hear- 
ing the voices of Tiburcio and Rosarita, alternating with 
each other, with no other witness to their conversation than 
the stars in the sky. It was evident, therefore, that Rosarita 
did not regard the young rustic with an unfavouring eye. 


TIBURCIO IN DANGER. 


173 


An interview, such as this, could not be otherwise than i 
thing premeditated and prearranged. 

The heart of the Spaniard swelled with rage at the 
thought. His ambition was suddenly alarmed : for this was 
an obstacle that had never occurred to him. His counte- 
nance exhibited a thoughtful and troubled expression. He 
found himself unexpectedly in the presence of one of those 
exigencies, which render diplomacy powerless, and absolve 
all reasons of state. He had behind him a man ready to 
destroy whatever victims he might point out ; but he 
remembered that twenty years of expiation had failed to 
wash from his memory a murder of which he had been him- 
self accused. Should he, then, after having passed the middle 
of his career, again embitter the remainder of his days by 
another deed of blood ? On the other hand, so near the 
object of his ambition, was he to permit this barrier to stand 
in his way? or with a bold effort to rid himself of the 
obstacle ? 

Thus it is that the ambitious continually roll before them 
the rock of Sisyphus ! 

“ Providence,” said he to himself— and as he pronounced 
the word a bitter smile played upon his lips — “ Providence 
offers me an opportunity to restore to this young man his 
name and his fortune, and the honours which he has lost. 
Such a good action in my ripe age would perhaps compen- 
sate for the crime of my youth. But, no — no — I spurn 
the occasion — it is but a slight sacrifice to the cause which I 
serve.” 

As he spoke, his face was turned towards Cuchillo, who 
was observing him attentively ; but the shadow of the trees 
hindered the outlaw from noting the sombre expression of 
his countenance. 

“ The hour is come,” said he, speaking to Cuchillo in a 
low voice, “ when our doubts are to be solved. But remem 


THE WOOD-KANGEES. 


m 

ber ! your projects of vengeance must remain subordinate to 
my wishes — now follow me!” 

Saying this, he walked silently towards the hacienda, fol- 
lowed by the assassin. 

The storm which threatened Tiburcio, promised soon to 
break over his head. Two dangerous enemies were 
approaching him ; Cuchillo with wounded self-esteem, and 
purposes of vengeance that caused him to gihid his teeth as 
he thought of them ; and Don Estevan, smarting at the dis- 
covery of such an obstacle to his ambition. 

Tiburcio in going forth from his chamber, and traversing 
the path that conducted him to the appointed rendezvous, 
was under the belief he had not been observed: neither was 
he ; but unfortunately chance had now betrayed him. 

The night was not so dark as Don Estevan and Cuchillo 
would have wished ; nevertheless, by crouching low, and 
keeping well in to the wall that enclosed the garden, they 
succeeded in reaching a little grove of orange and citron 
trees, the foliage of which was thick enough to shelter them 
from view. From this grove, thanks to the calmness of the 
night, they could catch every word that was said — for 
under the shadow of the trees they were able to approach 
very near to the speakers. 

“ Whatever you may hear,” whispered Don Estevan in 
the ear of the other, “ remain motionless as I do.” 

“ I will,” simply answered Cuchillo. 

The two now placed themselves in an attitude to see 
and hear. They were separated from the speakers by a 
slight barrier of leaves and branches, and by a distance not 
greater than an active man could pass over in two bounds. 
Little did the victims of their espionage suspect their prox- 
imity-little dreamt Tiburcio of the danger that was so near 
him. 


I.OVE THROUGH THE WINDOW. 


175 


CHAPTER XXV. 

LOYE THROUGH THE WINDOW. 

For a time the listeners heard nothing beyond those 
common-place speeches exchanged between lovers — when 
the young man doubtful of his position, makes himself heard 
in reproaches, or arguments, which to him appear all-power- 
ful, while the responses which he meets with show too plainly 
that he is either not loved at all, or that the advantages are 
on the side of the girl. But was this really the position oi 
Tiburcio with Rosarita ? It remains to be known. 

According to the custom of country houses throughout 
Mexico, the window of Rosarita’s chamber was unglazed. 
Strong iron bars, forming what is called the reja , hindered 
an entrance from without; and behind this reja, lit up by 
the lamp in the chamber, the young girl was standing in an 
attitude of graceful ease. In the calm and perfumed night 
she appeared even more charming than when seen in the 
brilliant saloon — for it is behind the railing of these bal- 
conies that the women of Spanish race appear to the greatest 
advantage. 

A reboso of silk was thrown over her head, falling over 
her shoulders in graceful undulations. The window running 
quite down to the level of the floor, concealed nothing of 
her person ; she was visible from the crow of her head to 
the satin slipper that covered her pretty little foot ; and the 
outline of her figure formed in a graceful silhouette, against 
the light burning within. 

Tiburcio, his forehead resting against the bars, appeared to 


170 


THE W00D-RANGER9. 


struggle with a painfhl conviction that was fast forcing itself 
upon him. 

“Ah !” said he, “I have not forgotten, as you, Rosarita, 
the day when I first saw you in the forest. The twilight was 
so sombre I could scarce make out your form, which 
appeared like the graceful shadow of some siren of the 
woods. Your voice I could hear, and there was something 
in it that charmed my soul — something that I had never 
heard till that moment.” 

“ I have never forgotten the service you rendered us,” 
said the young girl ; “ but why recall those times ? they are 
long past.” 

“Long past! no, not to me, Rosarita — that scene appears 
to me as if it had happened yesterday. Yes,” continued the 
young man, in a tone of melancholy, “ when the light of the 
camp-fire by little and little enabled me to observe the radi- 
ant beauty of your face, I can scarce describe the emotion 
which it gave me.” 

Had Tiburcio, instead of looking to the ground, but raised 
his eyes at that moment, he might have noticed upon the 
countenance of Rosarita, an expression of interest, while a 
slight blush reddened her cheeks. Perhaps her heart was 
scarce touched, but rarely does woman listen, without plea- 
sure, to those impassioned tones that speak the praises of her 
beauty. 

Tiburcio continued in a voice still softer and more marked 
by emotion : — “ I have not forgotten the flowers of the lianas 
which I gathered for you, and that seemed to give forth 
a sweeter perfume when mingled with the tresses of your 
hair. Ah ! it was a subtle poison that w r as entering into my 
heart, and which has resulted in filling it with an incurable 
passion. Ah ! fool that I have been ! Is it possible, Rosa- 
rita, that you have forgotten those sweet souvenirs upon 
which I have lived from that day up to the present hour ?” 


LOVE THEOUGH THE WINDOW. 


177 


There are certain moments of indiscretion in the life of 
most women, of which they have a dislike to be reminded. 
W as it so with Rosarita ? She was silent for a while, as if 
her rebellious memory could not recall the particulars men- 
tioned by Tiburcio. 

“ No,” at length answered she, in a tone so low as not to 
betray a slight trembling of her voice, “ I do not forget, but 
we were then only children — to-day — ” 

“To-day,” interrupted Tiburcio in a tone of bitter 
reproach, “ to-day that is all forgotten, since a Senator from 
Arispe has condescended to comprise you in his projects of 
ambition.” 

The melodious voice of Rosarita was now heard in a tone 
of disdainful anger. Tiburcio had wounded her pride. 

“ Comprise me in his projects of ambition,” said she, her 
beautiful nostrils curving scornfully as she spoke, “ and who 
has told you, senor, that it is not I who condescend ?” 

“ This stranger, too,” continued Tiburcio, still preserving 
his reproachful manner, “ this Don Estevan — whom 1 hate 
even worse than the Senator — has talked to you of the plea- 
sures of Madrid — of the wonderful countries that lie beyond 
the sea— and you wish to see them with your own 
eyes !” 

“Indeed I acknowledge,” answered Rosarita, “that in 
these deserts life appears to me dull enough. Something 
tells me that I was not made to die without taking part in 
those splendours of the world of which I have heard so much. 
What can you offer to me — to my father ?” 

“ I understand now,” cried Tiburcio with despairing bit- 
terness, “ to be poor, an orphan, unhappy — these are not the 
tides to wir the heart of a woman.” 

“ You are unjust, Tiburcio. It is almost always the very 
reverse that happens — for it is tte instinct of a woman to 
prefer tnose who are as you say. But it is different with 

8 * 


178 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


fathers, who, alas ! rarely share this preference with their 
daughters.” 

There was in these last words a sort of tacit avowal which 
Tiburcio evidently did not comprehend — for he continued his 
reproaches and hitter recriminations, causing the young girl 
many a sigh as she listened to them. 

“ Of course you love this Senator,” said he. “ Do not 
talk, then, of being compelled !” 

“ Who talks of being compelled ?” said Rosarita, hastily 
interrupting the young man. “ I said nothing of compul- 
sion, I only spoke of the desire which my father has already 
manifested ; and against his will, the hopes you may have 
conceived would be nothing more than chimeras or idle 
dreams.” 

“ And this will of your father is to throw you into the 
arms of a ruined prodigal, who has no other aim than to 
build up the fortune he has squandered in dissipation, and 
satisfy his ambitious desires ? Say, Rosarita, say ! is this 
will in consonance with your own ? Does your heart agree 
to it ? If it is not, and there is the least compulsion upon 
you, how happy should I be to contest for you with this 
rival. Ah ! you do not make answer — you love him, Rosa- 
rita ? And I — Oh ! why did they not leave me to die upon 
the road?” 

At this moment a slight rustling was heard in the grove 
of oranges, where Don Estevan and Cuchillo were crouching 
in concealment. 

“ Hush !” said the young girl, “ did you not hear a 
noise ?” 

Tiburcio turned himself quickly, his eye on fire, his heart 
beating joyfully with the hope of having some one upon 
which to vent the terrible anger that tortured it— but the 
rays of the moor, shone only upon the silvery foliage — all 
was quiet around. 


LOVE THROUGH THE WINDOW. 


179 


He then resumed his gloomy and pensive attitude. Sad- 
ness had again taken possession of his soul, through which 
the quick burst of anger had passed as lightning through a 
sombre sky. 

“ Y ery likely,” said he, with a melancholy smile, “ it is the 
spirit of some poor lover who has died from despair.” 

“Santisima Virgen!” exclaimed Rosarita, making the 
sign of the cross. “You make me afraid, Tiburcio. Do 
you believe that one could die of love ?” she inquired in a 
tone of naivete. 

“ It may be,” replied Tiburcio, with a sad smile still play- 
ing upon his lips. Then changing his tone, he continued, 
“ Hear me, Rosarita ! you are ambitious, you have said so — 
hear me then ! Supposing I could give you all that has been 
promised you ? hitherto I have preferred to plead the cause 
of Tiburcio poor and an orphan ; I shall now advocate that 
of Tiburcio Arellanos on the eve of becoming rich and pow- 
erful ; noble too I shall become — for I shall make myself an 
illustrious name and offer it to you.” 

As he said these words the young man raised his eyes 
towards heaven : his countenance exhibited an altered 
expression, as if there was revived in his soul the pride of an 
ancient race. 

For the first time since the commencement of the inter 
view, Tiburcio was talking sensibly, and the daughter of Eve 
appeared to listen with more attention than what she had 
hitherto exhibited. 

Meanwhile the two spies were also listening attentively 
from their hiding-place among the oranges. Not a woid of 
what was said, not a gesture escaped them. The last speech 
of Tiburcio had caused them to exchange a. rapid glance. 
The countenance of the outlaw betrayed ah expression of 
rage mingled with shame. After the impudent manner in 
which he had boasted of his penetration, he felt confounded 


180 THE WOOD-RANGERS. 

in the presence of Don Estevan, whose eyes were fixed npon 
him with a look of implacable raillery. 

“We shall see now,” whispered the Spaniard, “whether 
this young fellow knows no more of the situation of the Gol 
den Valley than he does of the Garden of Eden.” 

Cuchillo quailed under this terrible irony, but made no 
reply. 

As yet Don Estevan had learnt nothing new. The essen- 
tial object with him was to discover whether Tiburcio’s pas- 
sion was reciprocated : the rest was of little importance. In 
the behaviour of Rosarita there was certainly something that 
betrayed a tender compassion for the adopted son of Arel- 
lanos ; but was this a sign of love ? That was the question 
to which Don Estevan desired to have the answer. 

Meanwhile, having excited the evil passions of the outlaw 
to the highest pitch, he judged it prudent to moderate them 
again : an explosion at that moment would not have been 
politic on his part. A murder committed before his face, 
even though he had not ordered it either by word or gesture, 
would at least exhibit a certain complicity with the assassin, 
and deprive him of that authority which he now exercised 
over Cuchillo. 

“ Not for your life 1” said he, firmly grasping the arm of 
the outlaw, whose hand rested upon his knife. “ Not for 
your soul’s, safety !. Remember ! till I give the word, the 
life of this* young man is sacred. Hush !” he continued, 
“ listen !” and still holding the outlaw by the arm, he turned 
his eyes upon Tiburcio, who had again commenced speak- 
ing. 

“ Why should I conceal it from you longer ?” exclaimed 
the young man, in a tone to which the attentive attitude of 
Rosarita had lent animation. “ Hear me, then ! honours— 
riches— power I can lay at your feet, but yoi alone can en^ 
ble me to effect this miracle.” 


LOVE THROUGH THE WINDOW. 


181 


Rosarita fixed her eyes upon the speaker with an interro- 
gatory expression. 

“Perhaps I should have told you sooner,” continued 
Tiburcio, “ that my adopted mother no longer lives — ” 

“ I know it,” interrupted the young girl, “ you are 
alone in the world ; I heard it this evening from my 
.father.” 

The voice of Rosarita, in pronouncing these words, was 
soft as the breeze that sighed through the groves of oranges ; 
and her hand, falling as if by chance into that of Tiburcio, 
did not appear to shun the pressure given to it. 

At the sight of this, the hand of Don Estevan gradually 
relaxed its hold upon the arm of Cuchillo. 

“Yes,” continued Tiburcio, “my mother died in poverty, 
though she has left me a valuable inheritance, and at the 
same time a legacy of vengeance. . True, it ig a dangerous 
secret of which I am the heir, for it has already been death to 
those who possessed it ; nevertheless it will furnish the means 
to raise myself to an opulence like your own. The ven- 
geance which I have sworn to accomplish must be delayed, 
but it shall not be forgotten. I shall yet seek the murderer 
of Arellanos.” 

At these words Cuchillo turned pale, impatiently grinding 
his teeth. His arm was no longer restrained, Don Estevan 
grasped it no more, for he saw that the hand 6f Rosarita 
was still pressed by that of Tiburcio. 

“Hear me further !” continued the young man. “About 
sixty leagues from here, in the heart of the Indian country, 
there is a placer of gold of incalculable richness ; it was dis* 
covered by my adopted father. My mother on her death- 
bed gave me full directions to find the place ; and all this 
gold may be mine, Rosarita, if you will only love me. With- 
out youi love I care nothing for it. What should I do with 
such riches ?” 


1 82 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Tiburcio awaited the answer of Rosarita. That answer 
fell upon his heart like the tolling of a funeral knell. 

“I hope, Tiburcio,” said she, with a significant smile, 
“ that this is only a ruse on your part to put me to the proof 
• — I hope so, because I do not wish to believe that you have 
acted so vile a part as to make yourself master of a secret 
that belongs to another.” 

“ The secret of another !” cried the young man in a voice 
hoarse with astonishment. 

“ Yes, a secret which belongs only to Don Estevan. I 
know it — ” 

Tiburcio at once fell from the summit of his dreams. So 
his secret, too, was lost to him as well as her whom he loved : 
this secret upon which he had built his sweetest hopes ; and 
to add to the bitterness of his disappointment, she too — for 
whose sake alone he had valued it — she to accuse him of 
treason ! 

“ Ah !” cried he, “ Don Estevan knows of the Golden 
Valley?” perhaps then he can tell me who murdered my 
father ! Oh ! my God !” cried he, striking the ground with 
his heel, “ perhaps it was himself!” 

“ Pray God rather to protect you, — you will need all his 
grace !” cried a rough voice, which caused Rosarita to utter 
a cry of terror as she saw a dark form — that of a man rush- 
ing forward and flinging himself upon Tiburcio. 

The young man, before he could place himself in an atti- 
tude of defence, received a severe wound, and losing his 
balance fell to the ground. The next moment his enemy was 
over him. For some minutes the two struggled together 
in silence — nothing was heard but their loud quick breathing. 
The knife of Cuchillo, already stained with blood, had 
escaped from his hand, and lay gleaming upon the ground 
without his being able to reach it. 

“Now, villain, we are quits,” cried Tiburcio, who with an 


LOVE THROUG® THE WINDtW. 


183 


effort of supreme strength had got uppermost, and was 
kneeling upon the breast of the outlaw. “ Villain !” repeated 
he, as he endeavoured to get hold of his poignard : “ you 
shall die the death of an assassin.” 

Places had suddenly changed — Tiburcio was now the 
aggressor, but at this moment a third personage appeared 
upon the scene. It was Don Estevan. 

“ Hold,” screamed Rosarita, “ hold, for the love of the 
Holy Virgin ! This young man is my father’s guest ; his 
life is sacred under our roof.” 

Don Estevan grasped the arm that was raised to strike 
Ouchillo, and as Tiburcio turned to see what thus interfered 
between him and his vengeance, the outlaw glided from under 
him. 

Tiburcio now sprang up, rolled his serape around his left 
arm, and holding it as a shield, stood with his body inclined 
backward, his left leg advanced, and his right hand firmly 
grasping his weapon, in the attitude of an ancient gladiator. 
He appeared for a moment as if choosing upon which of his 
antagonists he would first launch himself. 

“ You call this being quits !” cried Cuchillo, his breast 
still heaving from the pressure of Tiburcio’s knee. “ Your 
life belongs to me — I only lent it to you, and I shall now take 
it back.” 

“ Come on dog !” shouted Tiburcio, in answer ; “ and you 
too, Don Estevan, you cowardly assassin ! you who pay for 
the murder of defenceless people.” 

The countenance of the Spaniard turned livid pale at this 
unexpected accusation. He instantly drew his dagger, and 
crying out : — “Down with him Cuchillo !” rushed furiously 
forward to the attack. 

Ho doubt Tiburcio would soon have succumbed before 
two such formidable antagonists, but at this moment a red 
light flashed upon the combatants, as Dona Rosarita, with 


184 


THE WOOD-RANGEKS. 


a flaming torch in her hand, rushed forward between - 
them.” ^ 

The aspect of Tiburcio, who, despite the odds against hina 
and the blood that was running from his arm, still fearlessly 
maintained his defensive attitude, caused the heart of Rosarita 
to beat with sympathetic admiration. This sanguinary dfc 
nouement to their interview, was pleading the cause of the 
lover far more eloquently than either his reproaches or pro- 
mises ! 

The first impulse of Rosarita was to fling herself into the 
arms of the young man so daring and beautiful. She was 
restrained only from following this impulse, by a feeling of 
feminine delicacy ; and for an instant Tiburcio seemed the 
one about whom she was least concerned. 

“Oh! my God!” cried she, “are you wounded? Don 
Estevan ? Senor Cuchillo ? Senor Arechiza ! retire ; for the 
love of the Virgin, let not the world know that a crime has 
been committed in our house.” 

The excited bearing of the young girl, her bosom heaving 
under the light tissue of her dress, her reboso floating behind 
her, mingled with the long dark tresses of her dishevelled 
hair — all these, added to the proud savage beauty of her 
countenance — commanded respect ; and as if by enchant- 
ment, the weapons of the combatants were restored to their 
sheaths. 

Cuchillo growled like a dog newly muzzled, while Don 
Estevan preserved a sombre silence. Both walked away 
from the ground, and their forms were soon lost in the dark- 
ness. 

Tiburcio, with face upturned, his eyes still flashing w T ith 
rage, his features illuminated with the red light of the torch, 
remained for some moments without changing his attitude. 
His features exhibited that super b expression that danger 
only magnifies into grandeur. Gradually, however, theii 


LOVE THROUGH fHE WINDOW. 


185 


tone became softened, and an air of melancholy succeeded it, 
as his eyes rested upon Rosarita. The young girl had sud- 
denly become pale, under the reaction of such vivid emotions, 
as well as under the influence of the powerful sentiment now 
rekindled within her heart. Acting under this influence as 
well, she hastily arranged her scarf in order to cover her 
nude shoulders, and the palpitating movements of her 
bosom. Even her motive for this was misunderstood by 
Tiburcio. 

“Rosarita!” he said, speaking with perfect calmness, “I 
might have doubted your words, but your actions have spo- 
ken more plainly. It was to my enemies you first ran, though 
my blood was spilling : all your fears appeared to be for Don 
Estevan.” 

“ God knows that I do not deserve this reproach,” said 
the young girl, as with a look of terror she saw the blood 
streaming to the ground. At the same instant she advanced 
to examine the wound. 

Tiburcio repulsed her by stepping backward. 

“ It is too late,” said he with a bitter smile, “ the evil is 
done. Adieu ! I have been too long your guest. The hos- 
pitality of your house is fatal to me. Under your roof my 
life has been threatened, my dearest hopes have been crushed ! 
Adieu, Rosarita ! Adieu !” 

As he pronounced the last words, he turned and walked 
hastily away. There was a broken place in the wall of the 
enclosure, and towards this he directed his steps. A ’hun- 
dred paces beyond, the forest commenced, and the dark 
sombre trees were visible through the opening. The myste- 
rious light he had already noticed, was still glimmering 
feebly above their tops. 

“ Where are you going Tiburcio ?” cried the young girl, 
her hands joined and her eyes filling with tears, “ my father’d 
roof will protect you.” 


136 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Tiburcio only answered by a negative snake of the 
head. 

“ But yonder,” continued Rosarita, pointing to the woods, 
“ yonder, alone and without defence — danger — death will 
await you.” 

“ God will send me friends,” answered Tiburcio, glancing 
towards the distant light. “ The hospitality of the wander- 
ing traveller — a sleep by his camp fire — will be safer for me 
than that of your father’s roof.” And Tiburcio continued to 
advance towards the breach with a gentle but resolute step. 

“ For the love of heaven do not expose yourself to dan- 
gers that may perhaps arise when I am no longer present to 
protect you ! I tell you out yonder you will be risking your 
life ;” then giving to her voice a tone of persuasive softness, 
she continued, “ In what place, Tiburcio, will you be safer 
than with me ?” 

Tiburcio’s resolution was for a moment shaken, and he 
paused to make answer. 

“ One word, Rosarita !” said he ; “ say that you hate my 
rival as I hate him — say this, and I remain.” 

A violent conflict appeared to arise in the breast of Rosa- 
rita. Her bosom swelled with conflicting emotions, as she 
fixed upon Tiburcio a glance of tender reproach, but she 
remained silent. 

To a man of Tiburcio’s age the heart of a woman is a 
sealed book. Not till we have lost the attractions of youth 
• — so powerful, despite its inexperience — are we able to pene- 
trate the mysteries of the female heart — a sad compensation 
which God accords to the maturity of age . ) At thirty years 
Tiburcio would have remained. But he was yet only twenty- 
four ; he had spent his whole life in the desert, and this was 
his first love. 

“ You will not say it ? Adieu, then,” cried he, “ I am no 
longer your guest,” and saying this, he leaped over the bro- 


LOVE THROUGH THE WINDOW. 


187 


ken wall, before the young girl could offer any opposition to 
his departure. 

Stupefied by this unexpected movement, she mounted 
upon the fragments that lay at the bottom of the wall, and 
stretching her arms toward the forest, she cried out — 

“ Tiburcio ! Tiburcio ! do not leave us so ; do you wish to 
bring upon our house the malediction of heaven ?” 

But her voice was either lost to his ears, or he disdained 
to reply. 

She listened a moment, she could hear the sound of his 
footsteps fast dying in the distance — until they could be 
heard no more. 

“ Oh ! my God,” cried she, falling upon her knees in an 
attitude of prayer, “ protect this young man from the dan- 
gers that threaten him. Oh God ! watch over him, for alas ! 
he carries with him my heart.” 

Then forgetting in her grief her projects of ambition, the 
will of her father, all that deceptive confidence, which had 
kept silent the voice of a love, of the existence of which she 
was hitherto almost ignorant — the young girl rose hastily 
from her knees, once more mounted upon the wall, and in a 
heart-rending voice called out, 

“ Come back ! Tiburcio / come back ! I love only you /” 

But no answer was returned, and wrapping her face in her 
reboso, she sat down and wept. 

Before returning to her chamber she cast one more look 
in the direction of the forest, but the woods were still enve- 
loped in the obscurity of night ; all was sombre and silent, 
though in the distance the feeble light was still glimmering 
over the tree tops. All at once it appeared for an instant to 
flash more brightly, as if offering a welcome to him who had 
no longer a home 1 


188 


THE "WOOD-HANGERS. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

AN ABRUPT DEPARTURE. 

Don Estevan and Cuchillo, on leaving the ground of the 
combat, returned to the alley of granadines ; but for some 
time not a word passed between them. Don Estevan was 
buried in a profound meditation. More skilled than his 
coarse companion in the mysteries of the female heart, he had 
divined, before the end of the dialogue between Rosarita and 
Tiburcio, that the young girl felt for the latter a tender senti- 
ment. It was true it was just germinating in her soul; but 
the accents of her voice, her gestures, and other signs, dis- 
covered to the experienced intelligence of Don Estevan that 
she really loved Tiburcio, though herself not yet aware of the 
extent of that love. 

For Tiburcio knowing the secret of the Golden Valley, 
Don Estevan cared little — that was a matter of secondary 
importance ; but Tiburcio’s love reciprocated by Dona 
Rosarita was a very different affair. This at once presented 
a series of obstacles to the ambitious projects of the Spaniard. 
Tiburcio then must be got out of the way at all hazards, and 
at any price. Such are the terrible exigencies of ambition. 

It only remained to adopt some plan ; but the Spaniard 
was not then in the spirit to think of one. He was writhing 
at the inadvertence that had just happened. 

“The clumsy fool!” he muttered, but loud enough for his 
companion to hear him. 

“Is it of me your excellency is speaking?” inquired 


AN ABRUPT DEPARTURE. 


18S 


Cuchillo, in a tone that savoured strongly of his usual impu- 
dence. 

“Who else could I mean, you sot? You who neither 
know how to use strength or stratagem! A woman has 
accomplished what you could not do! I have told you that 
this chii, 1 is a giant to you ; and had it not been for me ” 

“ Had it not been for you,” interrupted the outlaw, “ this 
young fellow would not now have been living to trouble us.” 

“ How, sir ?” demanded Don Estevan. 

“ Last night, as I was bringing him to your bivouac, the 
fellow did an outrage to my honour, and actually threatened 
me. I was about putting an end to our differences by a shot 
from my carbine, when your precious old fool of a servant, 
Benito, came galloping up, and of course I had to renounce 
my design. So you see, the only good action I have ever done, 
has brought me to grief. Such is the reward of our virtue !” 

“ Speak for yourself, my droll fellow !” said the Spaniard, 
whose pride revolted at being thus classed with such com- 
pany as the outlaw. “ But if that could be outraged which 
does not exist, may I ask what attempt this young man made 
upon your honour ?” 

“ I do not know myself— it was something that happened 
with my horse, who has the fault ” 

Cuchillo interrupted himself as one who has made an 
imprudent speech. 

“ The fault of stumbling in the left fore-leg ?” added Don 
Estevan. “I see — this old history of the murder of Arel- 
lanos.” 

“I did not murder him,” cried the outlaw, impudently. 
“ I had reasons not to like him ; but I pardoned him, for all 
ill at.” 

“ Oh ! you are so magnanimous ! But come, an end to 
these pleasantries. It remains for you to get this young man 
out of the way. I have my reasons for wishing it so — among 


190 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


others, he knows our secret. I gave you a half onza to save 
his life. To-day I have different views regarding him ; and 
I promise to give you twenty onzas when I am assured, that 
he is no longer alive.” 

“ Agreed, Don Estevan ; and in to-morrow’s hunt of these 
wild horses, it will be strange if Tiburcio Arellanos don’t 
knock his brains out against either a rock or the trunk of a 
tree, or at least get himself into some corner, where he won’t 
be able to find his way out again. The only regret I have 
is, that I shall have to share these twenty onzas with my 
friends, Baraja and Oroche.” 

“To-morrow!” exclaimed Don Estevan; “and who knows 
but that to-morrow may be too late ? Is the night not bet- 
ter for your purpose ? Are you not three to one ? Who is 
to assure you that to-morrow I may not change my mind ?” 

This threat seriously alarmed Cuchillo. 

“Carramba! your excellency is quick to decide; you are 
not of those who leave for to-morrow what should be done 
to-day. JPues — then — I shall try my best. In fact, it is very 
quiet here — I wonder the cries of this young woman have 
not startled the whole house. There’s not a creature about.” 

Such was in reality the case. Notwithstanding the noise 
of the struggle between Tiburcio and his assailants, and later 
still, the cries of Rosarita, no one had been awakened. The 
vast extent of the building prevented these sounds from being 
heard, particularly as all the domestics of the hacienda, as 
well as the proprietor himself, were buried in a profound 
slumber. 

Cuchillo now directed himself toward the apartment where 
he had left his comrades ; Don Estevan returning at the same 
time to his own chamber. The moon once more poured her 
soft, silvery light upon the grove of oranges, as if no crime 
had ever been attempted in that tranquil spot. 

Don Estevan did not go to rest ; but for a long time paced 


AN ABRUPT DEPARTURE. 


191 


to and fro across his ample chamber, with the air of one 
accustomed to watch over ambitious projects while others 
were asleep. 

After a lapse of time, Cuchillo was heard knocking softly 
at his door ; and as soon as it was opened, the hired assassin 
stepped in. His confused looks caused Don Estevan to 
tremble. Was the deed already done? He wished it, yet 
feared to ask the question. Cuchillo relieved him from his 
embarrassment by speaking first. 

“ My twenty onzas are gone to the devil !” said he, in a 
lugubrious tone. 

“ How ?” hastily inquired Don Estevan. 

“ The bird has flown : the young man is no longer about 
the place.” 

“ Gone !” exclaimed Don Estevan. “ And you have let 
him escape ?” 

“ How could I hinder him ? This brute, Baraja, as well 
as Oroche, were both drunk with mezcal ; and Diaz refused 
to assist me, point blank. While I was endeavouring to 
arouse the other two, the fellow had taken leg bail through 
an opening in the wall of the garden — at least that’s all we 
can make out.” 

“And how have you arrived at this conjecture?” asked 
Don Estevan, angrily striking the floor with his foot. 

“ Why, when we arrived at the place, the Dona Rosarita 
was clinging over the wall, no doubt guided there by Tibur- 
cio. He could not be far off at the time, for she was still 
calling upon him to return ; and judging by the love-speeches 
she was making, she must have earnestly desired it.” 

“ She loves him, then ?” 

“ Passionately — or her words and her accents are all deceit. 

Come back /’ she cried, 1 Tiburcio , come back ! I love only 
you /’ These were the last words I heard ; for shortly after 
she left the wall, and went back to her room.” 


192 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“We must to horse and pursue him !” cried Don Estevan, 
hurrying to make ready ; “ yes, there is no help for it now. 
The success of our expedition depends upon the life of this 
ragged fellow. Go! arouse Benito and the others. Tell 
them to saddle the horses. Warn your friends in the cham- 
ber that we must be en route in an hour. Away ! while I 
awake Don Augustin and the Senator.” 

“Just as I have known him for twenty years,” muttered 
Cuchillo, as he hastened to his companions, “ always awake, 
always ready for the greatest obstacles. Well, if with his 
character he has not made way in his own country, I fear 
that in Europe perseverance and energy are not worth 
much.” 

Don Estevan, as soon as Cuchillo had left him, spent a few 
minutes in putting himself once more in travelling costume, 
and then repaired to the chamber of the Senator. He found 
the door open — as is the custom in a country where people 
spend most of their lives outside their houses. The moon 
was beaming full through the large window, and her light 
illumined the chamber as well as the couch upon which the 
Senator was sleeping. 

“What is it, Don Estevan?” cried the Senator, suddenly 
leaping up in his bed ; “ Senor Duke, I should say.” Traga- 
duros had been dreaming of the court of the King of Spain. 

“What is it, your grace?” 

“ I come to take leave of you, and to give you my final 
instructions.” 

“Eh! what?” said the Senator. “Is the hour late? oi 
have I been three days asleep ?” 

“ No,” gravely replied the Spaniard, “ but there is a serious 
danger that menaces our projects — both yours and mine. 
This young rustic, whom we found on the road, knows all 
about the Golden Valley; and what is still worse, he loves 
Dona Rosarita, and Dona Rosarita loves him.” 


AN ABRUPT DEPARTURE. 


193 


Tragaduros, instead of starting up at this announcement, 
sank back upon his pillow, crying out : 

“Adieu then to the million dollars of dowry! adieu to 
those beautiful plains covered with horses and cattle, which 
I already believed my own ! adieu to the honours of the 
court of Carlos el Primero /” 

“ Come ! all is not yet lost,” said Don Estevan. “ The 
evil may be remedied if taken in time. This young fellow 
has quitted the hacienda. It will be necessary to follow and 
find him before he gets out of the way. So much the 
worse for him, if his evil star is in opposition to yours.” 

The Spaniard said no more of his designs with regard to 
Tiburcio. As to the Senator, it was of little importance to 
him how he was to be disembarrassed of so dangerous a 
rival, so long as he himself should not be troubled with the 
matter. 

“ Whatever may be the end of it,” added Don Estevan, 
“one thing is certain — the young fellow will never be 
allowed to come back to this house, for I shall arrange that 
with Don Augustin. • You will therefore be master of the 
situation, and will have everything your own way. Make 
the young lady love you — it will be easy enough — your 
rival will be absent, he may be dead — for these deserts are 
dangerous, and you know the old proverb about absence ?” 

“ I shall make myself irresistible !” said the Senator, “ for 
since yesterday I feel as if I was on fire about this lovely 
creature, who appears to have come down direct from 
heaven — and then — such a dowry !” 

“No man ever aimed at an object more desirable than 
this immense dowry and this fair flower of the desert. 
Spare no pains, therefore, to win both the lady and the for- 
tune.” + 

“ If necessary I shall spin for her, as Hercules at the feet 
of Omphal6.” 


9 


194 


THE WOOD-RANGEES. 


“ Ha, ha, ha !” laughed the Spaniard. “If Hercules had 
any merits in the eyes of Omphale, it was not on account of 
his spinning, but because he was Hercules. No — do better 
than spin. To-morrow Don Augustin has a hunt among 
his wild steeds ; there will be an opportunity for you to 
distinguish yourself by some daring exploit. Mount one of 
the wildest of the horses, for the honour of the beautiful eyes 
of Rosarita, and after having tamed him, ride him up panting 
into her presence. That will gain you more grace than 
handling the thread and distaff d la Hercules .” 

The Senator responded to these councils with a sigh : 
and Don Estevan, having given him further instructions as 
to how he was to act during the absence of the expedition, 
took leave of him, and repaired to the chamber of Don 
Augustin. 

The clank of his heavy spurs, as he entered the sleeping- 
apartment of the haciendado, awoke the latter — who on 
opening his eyes and seeing his nocturnal visitor in full 
riding-costume, cried out : 

“ What ! is it time to set forth upon the chase ? I did 
not know the hour was so late !” 

“No, Don Augustin,” replied the Spaniard, “but for mo 
the hour has come to set forth upon a more serious pursuit 
than that of wild horses. I hasten to pursue the enemy of 
your house — the man who has abused your hospitality, and 
who, if not captured, may bring ruin upon all our projects.” 

“The enemy of my house! the man who has abused my 
hospitality!” cried the haciendado, starting up in astonish- 
ment, and seizing a long Toledo rapier that hung by the side 
of his bed, “ Who is the man that has acted so, Don Este- 
van V” 

“ Be calm !” said Don Estevan, smiling inwardly at the 
contrast exhibited between the spirit of the haciendado and 
the pusillanimity of the Senator. “ Be calm ! the enemy J 


AN ABRUFI DEPARTURE. 


105 


apeak of is no longer under your roof— he has fled beyond 
the reach of your just vengeance.” 

“ But who is he impatiently demanded Don Augustin. 

“ Tiburcio Arellanos.” 

“ What ! Tiburcio Arellanos my enemy ! I do not believe 
it. Loyalty and courage are the characteristics of this 
young man. I shall never believe him a traitor.” 

“ He knows the situation of the Golden Valley ! Further- 
more, he loves your daughter !” 

“ Is that all ? Why, I was aware of these facts already !” 

“Yes, but your daughter loves him — perhaps you were 
not aware of that fact ?” 

Don Estevan here detailed the events that had just tran- 
spired, and which proved that the passion of the young 
gambusino was reciprocated by Rosarita. 

“Well!” calmly rejoined Don Augustin; “so much the 
worse for the Senator !” 

This reply could not fail to astonish the Spaniard, and 
create a feeling of disappointment. 

“ Remember,” said he, “ remember, Don Augustin Pena, 
that you have engaged your word — not only to me, not only 
to Tragaduros, but to a prince of the blood royal of Spain, 
from whose brow this apparently simple incident — the ca- 
price of a young girl — may snatch a crown. Think too of 
your country — its future glory and greatness — all dependent 
on the promise you have given — ” 

“ Why,” interrupted Don Augustin, “ why set forth all 
these considerations ? After my promise has been given, I 
never retract my word. But it is only to the Duke de Ar- 
mada I have engaged myself, and he alone can free me from 
that engagement. Are you satisfied with this assurance ?” 

“ How could I be otherwise ?” cried the Spaniard, holding 
out his hand to the noble haciendado. “ Enough ! I have 
your word. It will be necessary for me to leave you without 


196 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


farther delay. This young fellow may find comrades to 
accompany him to the Golden Valley. There is not a 
moment, therefore, to be lost. I must at once proceed to 
Tubac. Adieu, my friend, adieu !” 

Don Augustin would have risen to accompany his guest to 
the gates, but the Spaniard would not permit him, and they 
parted without farther ceremony. 

When Don Estevan reached the court-yard, his attendants 
and domestics were found in readiness to depart. The mules 
had been packed, and the remuda collected in charge of the 
driver. The followers, Cuchillo, Baraja, Oroche, and Pedro 
Diaz were already in their saddles — the last mounted on a 
magnificent and fiery steed, which told that the generous 
haciendado had kept his promise. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE LONE FIRE IN THE FOREST. 

The motive for this hasty departure from the hacienda 
was unknown only to Benito and the other domestics. The 
cavalier adventurers were aware of its object, though two 
of them, Baraja and Oroche, had no very clear understand- 
ing upon the matter. The fumes of the mezcal were still 
in their heads, and it was with difficulty they could balance 
themselves in the saddle. They were sensible of their situa* 
tion, and did their best to conceal it from the eyes of the 
chief. 

“Am I straight in my stirrups?” whispered Oroche 
addressing himself to Baraja. 


THE LONE FIRE IN THE FOREST. 


197 


“ Straight as a bamboo !” replied the other. “ Do I 
appear firm?” inquired he in turn. 

“ Firm as a rock,” was the response. 

Thanks to the efforts they were making to keep themselves 
upright, Don Estevan, as he glanced over the ranks of his 
followers, did not observe anything amiss. Cuchillo, how- 
ever, knowing that they were not in a fit state for inspection 
regarded them with an anxious glance. 

As Don Estevan was about to mount, the outlaw rode up 
to him, and pointing to the others with an expressive ges- 
ture, said, “If your honour desires me to act as guide, and 
give the order of march, I am ready to enter upon my 
duties.” 

“Very well,” replied Don Estevan, springing into the 
saddle, “ commence at any moment, but let us be gone as 
soon as possible.” 

“ Benito !” shouted the newly appointed guide, “ take the 
remuda and recaa in advance ; you will wait for us at the 
bridge of the Salto de Agua .” 

Benito, with the other attendants, obeyed the order in 
silence; and the moment after were moving with their 
respective charges along the road leading to Tubac, Aj 
little later the cavalcade rode out of the court yard of the 
hacienda, and turning round the wall of the enclosure, 
guided by Cuchillo, proceeded toward the breach through 
which Tiburcio had passed. The guide was riding by the 
side of Don Estevan. 

“We have found his traces,” said he to the chief, as they 
moved forward ; “ he is down in the forest.” 

“ Where ?” 

“ Do you see a light yonder shining through the trees ?” 

The mysterious light was gleaming, just as Tiburcio had 
first seen it from his window. It was to this that Cuchille 
directed the attention of the chief. 


198 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Yes,” replied the latter, “ what of it ?” 

“ It is the camp-fire of some travellers ; and in all proba- 
bility the fellow will be found there. So,” continued he, 
with a hideous smile, “ we are going to give chase to a wild 
colt — which will better than hunting Don Augustin’s wild 
horses — and here are the three hunters.” 

As the outlaw said this, he pointed with his whip, first to 
himself, and then to his two comrades, Oroche and Baraja. 

“ They have both espoused our quarrel,” he added. 

“ From what motive ?” inquired the Spaniard. 

“ That motive which the hound has in taking the part of 
the hunter against the stag,” answered the outlaw, with a 
significant smile ; “ they only follow their instincts, and they 
are two animals with formidable teeth.” 

At this moment the moon shone out, and gleaming upon 
the carbines and knives of the two adventurers, seemed to 
confirm the assertion of Cuchillo. But the light proved dis- 
advantageous to Baraja and Oroche, for it enabled Don 
Estevsn to perceive that they were far from steady in their 
seats. 

“ Why, these fellows are drunk !” cried he, turning upon 
the guide a look of furious reproach. “ Are these the assist- 
ants you count upon ?” 

“True, your honour,” replied Cuchillo, “they are not 
exactly sober ; but I hope soon to cure them. I know of a 
remedy that will set them all right in five minutes. It is the 
fruit of th ejocuistle, which grows abundantly in these parts. 
I shall find it as soon as we have reached the woods.” 

Don Estevan was forced to swallow his chagrin in silence. 
It was not the time for vain recriminations ; and above all, 
Tiburcio had first to be found, before the services of either 
of the inebriated gentlemen would be called into requisition. 

In a few seconds’ time the party had reached the breach in 
the wall. Cuchillo dismounted, and striking a light, pointed 


THE LONE FIRE IN THE FOREST. 


199 


out to the others the traces left by Tiburcio. There could 
be seen some fragments freshly fallen from the wall, evi 
dently detached by the feet of one passing over ; but what 
was of more consequence, they were stained with drops of 
blood. This must have been Tiburcio’s. 

“ You see,” said the outlaw to Don Estevan, “ that he 
must have passed this way. Ah ! if I had only given him 
another inch or two. After all,” added he, speaking to him- 
self, “it is better I didn’t. I shall be twenty onzas the 
richer that I didn’t settle with him then. Now,” continued 
he, once more raising his voice, “ where can he have gone, 
unless to yonder fire in the woods ?” 

A little farther on in the direction of the forest, other 
spots of fresh blood were discovered upon the dry calcar- 
eous surface of the soil. This appeared to confirm the con- 
jecture of the guide — that Tiburcio had proceeded towards 
the camp fire. 

“ If your honour,” resumed Cuchillo, addressing himself 
to his chief, “ will go forward in company with the Senor 
Diaz, you will reach a stream running upon your left. By 
following down its bank for some distance, you will come to 
a bridge constructed with three or four trunks of trees. It 
is the bridge of the Salto de Agua. Just before reaching it, 
your honour will see a thick wood on the right. Under 
cover of that you can remain, until we three have finished 
our affair and can rejoin you. Afterwards we can overtake 
the domestics. I have ordered them forward, for the reason 
that such people should not be privy either to our designs 
or actions.” 

In this arrangement Cuchillo exhibited the consummate 
skill of the practiced bandit. Don Estevan, without offering 
any opposition to his plan, rode off as directed, in company 
with Diaz ; w T hile the outlaw, with his two chosen acolytes, 
turned their horses’ heads in the direction of the fire. 


200 


THE WOOD-KANGEKS. 


“ The fire betokens a halt of travellers, beyond loubt,” 
remarked Diaz to Don Estevan ; “ but who these travellers 
can be is a thing that puzzles me.” 

“ Travellers like any others, I suppose,” rejoined the Span- 
iard, with an air of abstraction. 

“ No, that is not likely. Don Augustin Pena is known for 
his generous hospitality for twenty leagues around. It is 
not probable that these travellers should have halted so near 
his hacienda without knowing it. They must be strangers 
to the country I fancy, or if not, they have no good purpose 
in camping where they are.” 

Pedro Diaz was making almost the same observations 
that had occurred to Tiburcio at an earlier hour of the 
night. 

Meanwhile, Cuchillo, with his two comrades, advanced 
towards the edge of the forest. As soon as they had reached 
it the guide dismounted from his horse. 

“ Stay here,” said he, “ while I go fetch something to cure 
you of your ill-timed drunkenness.” 

“So saying he glided in among the trees, and in a few 
seconds came out again, carrying with him several oblong 
yellow-coloured fruits that resembled ripe bananas. They 
were the fruits of the jocuistle , a species of asimina , whose 
juice is an infallible remedy against the effects of intoxication. 
The two inebriates ate of the fruit according to Cuchillo’s 
direction ; and in a minute or two their heads were cleared 
of the fumes of the mezcal as if by enchantment. 

“Now to business!” cried Cuchillo, without listening to 
the apologies his comrades were disposed to make — “ to busi- 
ness ! You will dismount and lead your horses forward by 
the bridle, until you can see the fire ; and when you hear the 
report of my gun, be* ready, for I shall then fall back upon 
you.” 

“All right,” responded Oroche, “ we are both ready — the 


THE LONE FIRE IN THE FOREST. 


201 


Senor Baraja and myself — to sacrifice all private interests to 
the common good.” 

Cuchillo now parted with the two, leading his horse ahead 
of them. A little farther on he tied the animal to the branch 
of a tree, and then stooping downward he advanced on foot. 
Still farther on he dropped upon his hands and knees, and 
crept through the underwood like a jaguar stealing upon its 
prey. 

Now and then he paused and listened. He could hear the 
distant lowing of the wild bulls, and the crowing of the cocks 
at the hacienda, mingled with the lugubrious notes of the 
great wood owl, perched near him upon a branch. He could 
hear the distant sound of water — the cataract of the Salt< 
de Agua — and, in the same direction, the continuous howl 
ing of the jackals. 

Again the assassin advanced — still creeping as before. 
Presently he saw before him the open glade, lit up by the 
flame of the camp-fire. On the edge nearest him, stood a 
huge button-wood tree, from whose base extended a number 
of flat ridge-like processes, resembling the bastions of a forti- 
fication. He perceived that, behind these he would be con- 
cealed from the light of the fire; while he himself could 
command a view of every object within the glade. 

In another moment he was crouching under the trunk of 
the button-wood. His eyes gleamed with a fierce joy, as he 
gazed in the direction of the fire, around which he could 
distinguish the forms of three men — two of them seated, tba 
other stretched along the ground, and apparently asleep. 


202 


THE WOOD-BANGERS. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE WOOD-RANGERS. 

Behind the Hacienda del V enado — that is, to the nt srth- 
ward of it — the surface of the country was still in a state of 
nature ; as we have already said, the edge of the forest lay 
almost within gun-shot of the walls ; and this vast tract of 
woods extended for many leagues to the north, till it ended 
in the great deserts of Tubac. 

The only road that trended in a northerly direction, was 
that leading to the Presidio of Tubac — though in reality it 
was not a road, but simply an Indian trail. At a short dis- 
tance beyond the hacienda, it was crossed by a turbulent 
and rapid stream — the same that passed near the house — ■ 
augmented by several tributaries that joined it in the woods. 
Where the road crossed it, and for a long distance above 
and below, this stream partook rather of the nature of a tor- 
rent, running in a deep bed, between rocky banks — a canon . 
Over this canon the crossing was effected by means of a rude 
bridge, consisting simply of the trunks of two or three trees, 
laid side by side, and reaching from bank to bank. About 
half way between the hacienda and this bridge, and but a 
short distance from the side of the road, was the fire which 
had already attracted so much attention. 

This fire had been kindled near the centre of a little glade, 
but its flame cast a red glare upon the trees at a distance ; 
until the grey bark of the button-wood, the pale foliage of 
the acacias, and the scarlet leaves of the sumac, all appeared 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


203 


>f one colour ; while the darker llianas, stretch.ng from tree 
to tree, encircled the little glade with a series of festoons. 

At the hour when Tiburcio was about leaving the haci- 
enda, two persons were seated by this fire, in the attitude 
of men who were resting after a day of fatigue. These per* 
sons were the trappers, who had already made their appear- 
ance at La Poza. 

There was nothing remarkable in two men having made 
their camp fire in the woods ; it was their proximity to a 
hacienda — and that, too, the Hacienda del Yenado — that 
rendered the fact significant. The trappers knew well 
enough that the hacienda was close at hand ; it followed, 
then, that they had some reasons of their own for not avail- 
ing themselves of its hospitality. A large pile of fagots lay 
near the fire, evidently collected to feed it ; and this proved 
that the men who had kindled it intended to pass the night 
on the spot. 

The appearance of these two men would have been strik- 
ing, even in the light of day ; but under that of the fire it 
was picturesque — almost fantastic. The older of the two 
was habited in a costume half Indian half Canadian ; on bis 
head was a sort of bonnet, shaped like a truncated cone, and 
made out of the skin of a fox ; a blue striped cotton shirt 
covered his shoulders, and beside him upon the ground lay 
a sort of w r oollen surtout — the capote of the Canadians. 
His legs were encased in leathern leggins, reaching from the 
thigh downward to the ankle ; but instead of moccasins he 
wore upon his feet a pair of strong iron-bound shoes, capa- 
ble of lasting him for a couple of years at the least. A large 
buffalo-horn, suspended from the shoulder, contained' his 
powder ; and upon his right side hung a leathern pouch, well 
filled with bullets. In fine, a long rifle, with a barrel nearly 
six feet in length, rested near his hand; and this, with a 
large hunting-knife stuck in his belt, completed his equip- 


204 


TIIE WOOD-RANGERS. 


ment. His hair already showed symptoms of turning grey ; 
and a long scar which crossed his temples, and appeared to 
run all round his head, showed that if his scalp was still there, 
he had some time or other run the risk of having it raised . 
His bronzed complexion denoted a long exposure to sun, 
wind, and rain ; but for all this, his countenance shone with 
an expression of good humour. This was in conformity 
with his herculean strength — for nature usually bestows upon 
these colossal men a large share of kind-heartedness. 

The other trapper appeared to be some five or six years 
younger ; and although by no means a man of small stature, 
he was but a pigmy alongside his gigantic companion. His 
countenance also lacked the serenity which distinguished 
that of the other — his black eyes gave out an expression of 
boldness approaching to effrontery ; and the play of his fea- 
tures indicated a man whose passions, fiery by nature, once 
aroused, would lead him into acts of violence — even of 
cruelty. Everything about him bespoke the second trapper 
to be a man of different race from his companion — a man in 
whose veins ran the hot blood of the south. Although his 
style of dress did not differ very much from that of his com- 
rade, there were some points in it that denoted him to be 
more of a horseman. Nevertheless, his well-worn shoes 
bore witness to his having made more than one long journey 
on foot. 

The Canadian, half reclining upon the grass, was watching 
with especial interest a large piece of mutton, which, sup- 
ported upon a spit of iron-wood, was frizzling and sputter- 
ing in the blaze of the fire. He appeared to enjoy the 
savoury odour that proceeded from the joint ; and so much 
was his attention taken up by his gastronomic zeal, that he 
scarce listened to what his companion was saying. 

“Well, I have often told you,” said the latter, “ that when 
one is on the trace of an enemy, whether it be an Indian 01 


THE WOOD-HANGERS. 


20 S 


a white, one is pretty sure of coming on his tracks some- 
where.” 

“ Yes,” rejoined the Canadian ; “but you forgot that we 
shall just have time to reach Arispe, to receive the pay for 
our two years’ campaign ; besides, by our not going to the 
hacienda, we lose the bounty upon these three skins, and 
miss selling them besides.” 

“ I never forgot my interests,” replied the other ; “ no 
more than I do the vows which I make : and the best proof 
of it is, that twenty years ago I made one which I believe I 
shall now be able to accomplish. We can always force them 
to pay us what is due at Arispe, and we shall find many an 
opportunity of getting rid of the skins: but the chance 
which has turned up in the middle of these deserts, of 
bringing me in contact with the man against whom I have 
sworn vengeance, may not offer again during my whole life- 
time.” 

“Bah!” exclaimed the Canadian, vengeance is like many 
other kinds of fruit, sweet till you have tasted it, and after- 
wards bitter as gall.” \ 

“ For all that, Senor' Bois-Rose, you do not appear to prac- 
tise your own doctrine with the Apaches, Sioux, Crows, and 
other Indians with whom you are at enmity ! Your rifle has 
cracked many a skull — to say nothing of the warriors you 
have ripped open with your knife !” 

“ Oh ! that is different, Pepe. Some of these would have 
robbed me of my peltries — others would have taken my 
scalp, and came very near doing so, as you see— besides, it is 
blessed bread to clear the prairies of these red vermin ; but 
I have never sought to revenge myself against one of my 
own race and colour. I never hated one of my own kind 
sufficiently to kill him.” 

“ Ah ! Bois-Rose ; it is just those of one’s own race we 
hate most — that is when they have given us the reason foi 


206 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


doing so — and this man has furnished me with such motives 
to hate him as can never be forgotten. Twenty years have 
not blunted my desire for vengeance ; though, on account of 
the great distance that separated us, I supposed I should 
never find an opportunity of fulfilling my vow. Strange it 
is that two men, with relations like ours, should turn up toge- 
ther in the middle of these desert plains. W ell ! strange 
though it be, I do not intend to let the chance escape me.” 

Pepe appeared to have fixed his resolution upon this mat- 
ter, and so firmly that his companion saw the folly of attempt- 
ing to dissuade him by any further advice. The Canadian, 
moreover, was of an easy disposition, and readily yielded to 
the arguments of a friend. 

“ After all,” said he, “ perhaps, if I fully understood your 
motives, I might entirely approve of the resolution you have 
made.” 

“ I can give them in two words,” rejoined he whom the 
Canadian was addressing as Pepe. “ It is just twenty years, 
as I have already told you, since I was a earabinier in the 
service of her Catholic majesty. I should have been con- 
tented with my position and the amount of pay, had it only 
been paid, which unfortunately it was not. We were 
obliged to do the duty of coast-guard as well, and this would 
have done well enough had there been any smuggling, with 
the capture of which we might have indemnified ourselves; 
but there was none. What a fool a smuggler would have 
been to have ventured on a coast, guarded by two hundred 
fellows at their wit’s end with hunger! Well, then I rea- 
soned that if any smuggler was to land it could only be with 
the concurrence of our captain, and I suspected that the 
captain would make no objection to such an arrangement — 
for he himself was, like the rest of us, a creditor of the 
government. In such case he would cast around among us 
for the man in whom he could most confide, and that would 


OLD SOUVENIRS. 


20 ? 

be he who was noted as being most careless upon his post 
I resolved, therefore to become the captain’s confidential sen- 
try. 

“To arrive at this object I pretended to be all the day 
asleep; and, notwithstanding the reprimands I received, I 
managed also to be found asleep upon my post at all hours 
of the night. I succeeded in my design. The captain soon 
learnt all about my somnolent habits, and chose me for his 
favourite sentinel.” 

At this moment the Canadian detached the mutton from 
the spit, and having cut a large “ hunk ” from it with his 
knife passed the joint to his comrade. 

This interrupted the narrative, for both narrator and lis- 
tener were hungry. The two now sat face to face, their legs 
forming a sort of an ellipse, with the roast mutton in the 
centre, and for several minutes a formidable gritting of teeth, 
as huge pieces of the mutton passed through them, were the 
only sounds that broke the stillness of the night. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

OLD SOUVENIRS. 

“ I have said then,” resumed Pepe, after a time, “ that I 
pretended to be always asleep. The ruse succeeded equal to 
my best expectations, and one night the captain sent for me. 
Good! said I to myself, there’s an eel under the stone — the 
captain is going to confide a post to me. Just as I had anti- 
cipated he sent me to sleep — at least he thought so — on a 
most important post ; but for all that I lid not sleep a wink 
during the whole of that night.” 


208 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Here Pepe paused for a moment, in order to swallow as 
enormous mouthful of the roast mutton, that hindered the 
free use of the tongue. 

“To be brief, then,” resumed he, “ a boat arrived with 
men, and I permitted it to land. It was only afterwards that 
I learnt that it was no smuggling business these men were 
bent upon, but an affair of blood — of murder ; and the 
thought that I was instrumental in aiding the assassins causes 
me to this hour a feeling of remorse. I did not conceal 
what I knew. Afterwards I denounced the murderer, by 
way of atoning for my fault. A trial took place, but as in 
Spain justice goes to the highest bidder, the assassin was 
set free, and I became a victim. I was drummed out of my 
regiment, and transported to the fisheries of Ceuta, on the 
unhealthy coast of Africa. There I was compelled to remain 
for many years, till at last having made my escape, after a 
thousand perilous adventures, I found myself on the prairies 
of America.” 

“ It was a rich man then — some powerful person — whom 
you denounced?” 

“ Yes ; a grand senor. It was the old story of the pot of 
clay broken against the pot of iron. But the desert here 
has no "distinctions ; and, by the Virgin of Atocha ! I shall 
prove that before many suns have gone over my head. Ah ! 
if I only had here a certain alcalde of the name of Don 
Ramon Cohecho, and his damned friend, one Senor Caga- 
tinta, I fancy I should make them pass an uncomfortable 
quarter of an hour.” 

“ V ery well, then,” said Bois-Rose, seeing the other had 
finished his narrative ; “ very well. I quite approve of your 
intentions — let the journey to Arispe stand over.” 

“ It is an old story,” said Pepe, in conclusion ; “ and if for 
ten years you have been teaching me to handle a rifle, after 
many more spent in the usage of a carbine in the service of 


OLD SOUVENIBS. 


209 


her Catholic majesty, surely I should he able to manage it 
now. I think I would scarcely miss an object as large as 
him, whom you have seen at the head of those horsemen jour- 
neying toward the hacienda.” 

“ Yes — yes,” replied the Canadian, with a laugh ; “but I 
remember the time, Pepe, when you missed many a buffalo 
twice as big as he. Nevertheless, I fancy I have made a 
passable shot of you at last, although you still persist in mis- 
taking the ear of an otter for his eye, which always depre- 
ciates the value of the skin. Well, you know that I myself 
was not brought up on the prairies. I was a sailor for many 
long years ; and perhaps I should have continued one but for — 
a sad event — a melancholy affair — but what good is there 
in speaking of that which is no more. Let the past be past ! 
I find the life of the desert something like that on the 
ocean — once a man has got used to it he cannot easily 
quit it.” 

“Yes,” rejoined Pepe; “the life of the forest and prairie 
has its charms, and for my part ” 

“Hush !” whispered the Canadian, interrupting the speech 
of his comrade and placing himself in an attitude to listen. 
“ I heard a rustle among the branches. Other ears than 
mine may be listening to you.” 

Pepe cast a glance in the direction whence the sounds had 
been heard. The dark form of a man was perceived among 
the trees coming from the direction of the hacienda. 

It was evident that the man was not trying to approach by. 
stealth, for his form was erect and he made no attempt to 
conceal himself behind the branches. 

This would ha ve freed the mind of Pepe from all suspicion, 
but for the circumstance that the stranger appeared to be 
coming direct from the hacienda. 

“ Who goes there ?” he hailed in a loud tone, as the dark 
Bhadow was seen entering the glade. 


210 


THE WOOD-KANGEES. 


“ One who seeks an asylum by your fire,” was the ready 
reply, delivered in rather a feeble voice. 

“ Shall we allow him to come on ? or beg him to continue 
his journey ?” muttered Pepe to the Canadian. 

“ God forbid we should deny him ! Perhaps they have 
refused him a lodging up at the house ; and that voice, which 
I think I have heard before, plainly denotes that he is 
fatigued — perhaps ill.” 

“Come on Senor!” called out Pepe, without hesitating 
farther ; “ you are welcome to our fire and our mess ; come 
on !” 

At this invitation the stranger advanced. It is needless to 
say that it was Tiburcio Arellanos, whose cheeks as he came 
within the light of the fire, betrayed by their paleness the 
traces of some violent emotion, or else of some terrible 
malady. This pallor, however, was partly caused by the 
blood which he had lost in the conflict with Cuchillo. 

As soon as the features of Tiburcio came fairly under the 
light, the trappers recognized him as the young man they 
had met at La Poza ; but the ex-carabinier was struck with 
some idea which caused him to make an involuntary gesture. 
The Canadian, on the other hand, regarded the new comer 
with that expression of condescending kindness which a g< 
often bestows upon youth. 

“ Have you parted with the gentlemen in whose company 
we saw you ?” asked Pepe of Tiburcio. 

“ Yes.” 

“Perhaps you are not aware that there is a house 
close by. I do not know the owner, but I fancy he would 
not refuse you a night’s lodging, and he could entertain you 
better than we. Perhaps,” continued he, observing that 
Tiburcio made no reply, “ you have been up to the house 
already ?” 

“I have,” answered Tiburcio. “I have no reproach t<j 


OLD SOUVENIRS. 


211 


make against its owner, Don Augustin Pena; he has not 
refused me hospitality ; but there are other guests under his 
roof, with whom my life is not safe.” 

“ Oh, that !” exclaimed Pepe, appearing to become more 
interested ; “ has anything happened to you ?” 

Tiburcio lifted his serape, exhibiting the wound in his right 
arm from which the blood was yet oozing. 

Both Pepe and the Canadian rose hastily to their feet and 
stepped forward to examine the wound. Having done so, 
they immediately set about dressing it, which they effected 
with as much dexterity and despatch as might have been 
shewn by practised surgeons; at the same time the rude 
physiognomy of each was marked by an expression of interest 
almost amounting to tenderness. While the Canadian kept 
bathing the wound with water from his canteen, Pepe pro- 
ceeded into the woods in search of a peculiar plant noted for 
its healing properties. This plant was the oregano. Pre- 
sently he returned, bringing with him several slices which he 
had cut from the succulent stem of the plant ; the pulp of 
these, mashed between two stones, was placed over the 
wound, and then secured by Tiburcio’s own scarf of China 
crape wound several times around the arm ; nothing more 
could be done than await the effect of the application. 

“Now,” said the Canadian, “you will soon feel better. 
There is no danger of inflammation — nothing beats the ore- 
gano for preventing that, and you need not be afraid of fever 
Meanwhile, if you feel inclined, there’s a bit of roast mutton 
and a glass of eau de vie at your service ; after which you 
had best lie down by the fire and take some sleep — for I can 
see that you’re weary.” 

“ In truth,” replied Tiburcio, “ I am fatigued. I thank you 
for your offer, but I do not feel inclined either to eat or drink ; 
I have more need of sleep, and with your permission shall try 
and get some. One request I would make € you : that you 


212 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


will not permit me to sleep too long; there are reasons why 
I should soon be awake again.” 

“Very well,” said Pepe; “we don’t want your reasons. 
If you wish us to watch the hacienda, I beg you will only 
say so, and you shall have two pair of good eyes at your ser- 
vice ; therefore make your mind easy, and sleep without fear 
of any enemy coming upon you unawares.” 

Tiburcio stretched himself upon the grass, and overcome by 
fatigue and the many violent emotions he had that day ex- 
perienced, soon fell into a lethargic slumber. 

For some time Bois-Rose sat regarding the sleeper in 
silence, but with an air of strange interest. 

“ What age do you think he is ?” he at length inquired of 
his comrade. 

“ Twenty-four, I should fancy,” replied the ex-coastguard. 

“Just what I was thinking,” said the Canadian, speaking 
in a tone of half soliloquy, while a melancholy expression 
appeared to tone dowm his rude physiognomy. “ Yes, just 
the age he ought to be if still alive.” 

“ He ! who are you talking of?” brusquely interrupted his 
companion, in whose heart the words of the Canadian seemed 
to find an echo. 

“No matter,” said Bois-Rose, still speaking in a tone of 
melancholy ; “ the past is past ; and when it has not been as 
one would have wished it, it is better forgotten. But come ! 
let us have done with idle regrets and finish our supper — such 
souvenirs always spoil my appetite.” 

“ The same with me,” agreed Pepe, as he seized hold of 
a large mutton-bone, and commenced an attack upon it 
in a fashion that proved that his appetite w r as not yet quite 
gone. 

After a while Pepe again broke the silence. 

“ If I had the pleasure,” said he, “ of a personal acquaint- 
ance with this Don Augustin Pena, wdio appears to be the 


OI/D SOUVENIRS. 


213 


proprietor here, I would compliment him upon the fine quality 
of his mutton ; and if I thought his horses were of as good 
a sort, I thiuk I should be tempted to borrow one — one horse 
would never be missed out of the great herds we have seen 
galloping about, no more than a sheep out of his vast flocks ; 
and to me a good horse would be a treasure.” 

“Very well,” said the Canadian. “ If you feel inclined for 
a horse, you had better have one ; it will be no great loss to 
the owner, and may be useful to us. If you go in search of 
one, I can keep watch over this young fellow who sleeps as 
if he hadn’t had a wink for the last month.” 

“ Most probably no one will come after him ; nevertheless, 
Bois-Rose, keep your eye open till I return. If anything 
happens, three howls of the coyote will put me on my 
guard.” 

As he said this, Pepe took up a lazo that lay near, 
and turning his face in the direction in which he was most 
likely to find a drove of horses, he walked off into the woods. 

Bois-Rose was left alone. Having thrown some dry 
branches upon the fire, in order to produce a more vivid 
light, he commenced regarding anew the young man who 
was asleep ; but after a while spent in this way he stretched 
himself alongside the prostrate body, and appeared also to 
slurtiber. 

The night-breeze caused the foliage to rustle over the heads 
of these two men, as they lay side by side. Neither had the 
least suspicion that they were here reunited by strange and 
providential circumstances — that twenty years before, they 
had lain side by side — then lulled to sleep by the sound 
of the ocean, just as now by the whispering murmurs of the 
forest. 


214 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

BOIS-ROSE AND FABIAN. 

For twenty years the murderer of the Countess de 
Mediana had gone unpunished. For twenty years the jus- 
tice of heaven had remained suspended ; but the time of its 
accomplishment was not far offl Soon was it to open its 
solemn assizes ; soon would it call together accuser and crim- 
inal, witness and judge — not from one part of a country to 
another, but from opposite sides of the globe ; and, as if led 
by some invisible hand, all would have to obey the terrible 
summons. 

Fabian de Mediana and the Canadian sailor lay side by 
side— just as they had done twenty years ago, at three thou- 
sand leagues distance from Sonora. And yet they had no 
suspicion of ever having met before, though a single chance 
word might at that moment have brought either to the 
memory of the other. 

It was just about this time that Don Estevan and his party 
rode off from the hacienda. 

The Canadian, according to the counsel of his comrade 
Pepe, slept with one eye open. At short intervals he con- 
trived to awake himself, and raising his head slightly, cast 
around him a scrutinizing glance. But on each of these 
occasions, the light of the fire showed him Tiburcio still tran- 
quilly asleep ; and this appearing to satisfy him, he would 
again compose himself as before. 

About an hour had passed, when the sound of heavy foot 


BOIS-EOSE AND FABIAN. 


215 


steps awakened him once more, and listening a moment, he 
distinguished them as the hoof-strokes of a horse. 

A few moments after, Pepe made his appearance within the 
circle of the blaze, leading a horse at the end of his lazo — a 
magnificent animal, that snorted and started back at sight 
of the fire. Pepe, however, had already given him more 
than one lesson, and his obedience was nearly complete ; so 
that, after a short conflict, the trapper succeeded in bringing 
him nearer and attaching him to the trunk of a tree. 

“ Well,” said Pepe, wiping the perspiration from his fore- 
head with an old ragged handkerchief, “ I’ve had a tough 
struggle with him ; but he’s worth it, I fancy. What think 
you, Bois-Rose ? Isn’t he the most splendid quadruped that 
ever galloped through these woods ?” 

In truth it was a beautiful creature, rendered more beauti- 
ful by the terror which he was exhibiting at the moment, as 
he stood with his fine limbs stretched, his head thrown high 
in the air, his mane tossed over his wild savage eyes, and his 
nostrils spread and frothy. Strange enough that fear, which 
renders vile and degraded the lord of the creation, should 
have an opposite effect on most of the lower animals — espe- 
cially on the horse. This beautiful creature under its impulso 
only appears more beautiful ! 

Little as Bois-Rose delighted in horse-flesh, he could not 
withhold his aj:>proval of the capture which his comrade had 
made. 

“ He looks well enough,” was his sober reply ; “ but L Vll 
be a rough mount, I reckon.” 

“No doubt of that,” assented Pepe. “I know he’ll be 
rough at first ; but the main thing was to get hold of him. I 
had a lucky hand to hook him as I did.” 

“ 1 hope your neck will prove as lucky as your hand. Foi 
my part, I’d rather walk ten leagues than be on his back for 
ten minutes. But see, comrade 1” continued the big trapper, 


216 


THE WOOD-KANGERS. 


pointing to the stars, “they’re gone down yonder! you’ll 
need some sleep before morning. Lie down while I take my 
turn of the watch.” 

“ I’ll take your advice,” replied Pepe, at the same time 
stretching himself out upon his back, with his feet to the fire 
— in which attitude he was soon asleep. 

The Canadian rose to his feet, took several turns round 
the fire — as if to drive away any remains of sleep that might 
be lurking in his eyes — and then sat down again, with his 
back resting against the stump of a tree. 

He had not been long seated before he got up once more, 
and, approaching with caution, stood over Tiburcio. For 
several minutes he remained in this attitude, attentively ex- 
amining the features of the young man : he then returned to 
his seat by the stump. 

“ Just about his age, if he is still living,” muttered he to 
himself. “ But what chance have I to recognize in a grown 
man the features of an infant scarce four years old ?” 

A smile of disdain played for an instant on his lips, as if he 
were chiding himself for the silliness of his conjectures. 

“ And yet,” he continued, his countenance changing its 
expression, “ I have seen and taken part in too many strange 
events — I have been too long face to face with Nature — to 
doubt the power of Providence. Why should I consider this 
a miracle ? It was not one, when I chanced upon the boat 
adrift that carried that poor infant and its murdered mother ! 
No, it was the hand of God. Why might not the same hand 
restore him to me in the midst of the desert ? The ways 
of Providence are inscrutable.” 

As if this reflection had given birth to new hopes, the 
Canadian again rose to his feet, and approaching, stooped 
once more over the prostrate form of Tiburcio. 

“ How often,” said he, “ have I thus gazed on my little 
Fabian as he slept! Well, whoever you are, young man,” 


BOIS-ROSE AND FABIAN. 


217 


continued he, “ you have not come to my fire without finding 
a friend. May God do for my poor Fabian what I am dis- 
posed to do for you !” 

Saying this, he once again returned to his seat, and re- 
mained for a long time reflecting upon incidents that had 
transpired twenty years before in the Bay of Biscay. 

It should here be stated that up to this hour Bois-Rose and 
Pepe had not the slightest suspicion that they had ever met, 
before their chance encounter upon the prairies of America. 
In reality they had never met — farther than that they had 
been within musket-range of each other. But up to this 
hour Pepe knew not that his trapping comrade was the 
gigantic smuggler he had fired at from the beach of Ense- 
nada ; and Bois-Rose was equally ignorant that Pepe was the 
coast-guard whose “ obstinacy and clumsiness ” he had spoken 
of to his lieutenant. 

The cause of this mutual ignorance of each other’s past, was 
that neither of them had ever mentioned the word Elanchovi 
in the hearing of the other. The Canadian had never thought 
of communicating the incidents of that night to his prairie 
comrade ; and Pepe, on his side, would have given much to 
have blotted them altogether from the pages of his memory. 

The night became more chilly as the hours pased on, and a 
damp dew now fell upon the grass and the foliage of the 
trees. It did not wake the sleepers, however, both of whom 
required a long rest. 

All at once the silence was broken by the horse of Pepe, 
that neighed loudly and galloped in a circle at the end of his 
lazo : evidently something had affrighted him. 

Bois-Rose suddenly started from his reverie, and crept 
silently forward, both ear and eye set keenly to reconnoitre. 
But nothing could be heard or seen that was unusual ; and 
after a while he glided back to his seat. 

10 


218 


.THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


The noise lad awakened Tiburcio, who, raising himself 
into a sitting posture, inquired its cause. 

“Nothing,” answered the trapper, whose denial, however 
was scarce sincere. “ Something indeed,” continued he, 
“ has frightened the horse. A jaguar, I fancy, that scents the 
skins of his companions, or, more likely, the remains of our 
roast mutton. By the way, you can eat a bit now ; I have 
kept a couple of pieces for you.” 

And as he said this he handed two goodly-sized pieces of 
mutton to Tiburcio. 

This time the young man accepted the invitation to eat. 
Rest had given him an appetite ; and after swallowing a few 
mouthfuls of the cold mutton, warmed up by a glass of the 
brandy already mentioned, he felt both his strength and 
spirits restored at the same time. His features, too, seemed 
to have suddenly changed their hue, and now appeared more 
bright and smiling. 

The presence of the hunter also added to the pleasure thus 
newly arisen within his breast. He remembered the solici 
tude which the Canadian had exhibited in dressing his wound 
— which he now extended even to giving him nourishment — 
and the thought occurred to him that in this man he might 
find a friend as redoubtable for his herculean strength as for 
his dexterity and courage. He no longer felt so lone in the 
world — so abandoned. 

On the other hand, Bois-Rose sat looking at his protege, 
and apparently delighted to see him enjoy his repast. The 
heart of the trapper was fast warming into a strong friend- 
ship for this young man. 

“ Stranger !” said he, after a considerable interval of silence, 
“it is the custom of the Indians never to inquire the name or 
quality of a guest until after he has eaten of their bread. I 
have followed their example in regard to you ; and now mav 


BOIS-ROSJE AND FABIAN. 


219 


I ask you who you are, and what happened at the hacienda 
to drive you forth from it ?” 

“ I shall willingly tell you,” answered Tiburcio. “ For 
reasons that would have no interest for you, I left my hut 
and started on a journey to the Haciendo del Venado. My 
horse, overcome by thirst and fatigue, broke down on the 
way. It was his dead body, as you already know, that 
attracted the jaguars, so adroitly destroyed by you and your 
brave comrade.” 

“ Hum I” interrupted the Canadian, with a smile ; “ a poor 
feat that — but go on. I long to hear what motive any one 
could have for hostility to a mere youth scarce twenty years 
old, I should fancy.” 

“ Twenty-four,” answered Tiburcio ; and then proceeded 
with his narrative. “ I came very near sharing the fate of 
my poor horse ; and when, about two hours after, you saw 
me at La Poza, I had just arrived there — having been saved 
by the party in whose company you found me. But what 
motive those gentlemen could have, first to rescue me from 
death, and then afterwards attempt to take my life, is what 
I am unable to comprehend.” 

“ Perhaps some rivalry in love ?” suggested the Canadian, 
with a smile ; “ it is usually the history of young men.” 

“I acknowledge,” rejoined Tiburcio, with an air of embar- 
rassment, “there is something of that; but there is also 
another motive, I believe. Possibly it is to secure to them- 
selves the sole possession of an important secret which I share 
with them. Certain it is, that there are three men whom my 
life appears to discommode; there is one of them against 
whom I have myself sworn vengeance, and although I am 
but one against three I must accomplish the vow which I 
made at the death-bed of a person who was very dear to me.” 

The three men whom Tiburcio meant — and whose names 
he repeated to Bois-Rose — were Cuchillo, who had attempted 


220 


THE WoOP-RANGERS. 


to assassinate him ; the Senator, his rival : and Don Estevan, 
whom Tibnrcio now believed to be the murderer of Marcos 
Arellauos. 

Bois-Rose tacitly applauded this exhibition of youthful 
ardour and reckless courage. 

“But you have not yet told me your name?” said he } 
interrogatively, after a moment’s hesitation. 

“ Tiburcio Arellanos,” was the reply. 

At the mention of the name the Canadian could not restrain 
a gesture that expressed disappointment. There was nothing 
in the name to recall the slightest souvenir. He had never 
heard it before. 

The young man, however, observed the gesture. 

“You have heard the name before?” he asked abruptly. 
“ Perhaps you knew my father, Marcos Arellanos ? He has 
often been through the wildest parts of the country where 
you may have met him. He was the most celebrated gam- 
busino in the province.” 

Instead of calling Marcos Arellanos his father, had Tiburcio 
said his adopted father , his explanation might have elicited 
a different response from the Canadian. As it was, he only 
said in reply : 

“ It is the first time I have heard the name. It was your 
face that recalled to me some memories of events that hap- 
pened — long, long ago ” 

Without finishing what he meant to have said, the Cana- 
dian relapsed into silence. 

Tiburcio, too, ceased speaking for awhile ; he was reflect- 
ing on some hopes that had suddenly sprung up within him. 
His meeting with the two trappers appeared to him not so 
much a mere chance as a providential circumstance. The 
secret which he possessed, almost useless to him alone, might 
be rendered available with the assistance of two auxiliaries 
such as they — it might become the key to the favour of Don 


BOIS-ROSE aND FABIAN. 


221 


Augustin. It was not without repugnance that he reflected 
on this means of winning the heart of Rosarita — or rather of 
purchasing it at the price of gold — for Tiburcio believed 
that it was closed against any more tender appeal. He had 
mentally resolved never to return to the hacienda ; but not- 
withstanding this vow he still indulged in a slight remnant 
of hope — perhaps the echo of his own profound passion. This 
hope overcame his repugnance; and he resolved to make 
known his design to the trappers, and endeavour to obtain 
assistance in carrying it out. 

With this view he again opened the conversation. 

“You are a hunter by profession — I think I have heard 
you say ?” 

“Yes; that is the vocation both of my comrade and my- 
self.” 

“ It is not a very profitable one, and yet attended with 
many dangers.” 

“ Ah ! it is a noble calling, my boy L My fathers followed 
it before my time, and I, after a few years of interruption, 
have resumed the profession of my fathers. Unfortunately 
I have no son to succeed me ; and I can say, without boast- 
ing, that when I am gone a brave and strong race perishes 
with me.” 

“ I, too,” said Tiburcio, “ follow the profession of my 
father — who, as I have told you, was a gambusino.” 

“Ah ! you are one of a race whom God has also created — 
in order that the gold which He has given to the world 
should not be lost to the use of man.” 

“My father,” continued Tiburcio, “has left me a grand 
legacy — the knowledge of a deposit of gold, not far from 
the frontier ; and if two men, such as you and your comrade, 
would join me in obtaining it, I could promise to make you 
richer than ever you dreamt of becoming.” 

Tiburcio awaited the reply of the trapper, feeling almost 


222 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


certain of his adhesion, notwithstanding the refusal the lattei 
had made in his presence to the proposal of Don Estevan 
His astonishment, therefore, was great when the Canadian, 
with a negative shake of the head, replied as follows : 

“Your proposal, young man, might be seductive to man) 
— there was a time when it would have been so to myself — 
but now it is no longer so. What would gold be to me ? I 
have no one to whom either to give it or leave it. I have 
no longer a country. The woods and prairies are my home, 
and gold would be of no service to me there. I thank you, 
young friend, for your offer, but I must decline to accept it.” 

And as he said this, the Canadian covered his face with his 
huge hand, as if to shut out from his eyes the seductive pros- 
pect which had been offered to his view. 

“ Surely this is not your final answer ?” said Tiburcio, as 
soon as he had recovered from his surprise. “ A man does 
not so readily refuse a treasure that he has only to pick up 
from the ground ?” 

“Nevertheless,” responded the trapper, “it is my resolu- 
tion, fixed and firm. I have other objects to follow. I have 
given myself, body and soul, to aid my comrade there in an 
enterprize — my comrade of ten years’ standing.” 

During this conversation, the words gold and treasure fre- 
quently pronounced, appeared to produce their magic influ- 
ence on Pepe. Every now and then he turned himself, as if 
about to protest against the refusal of Bois-Hose, so defini- 
tively given. It was evident he was not sleeping very 
soundly while the talk was going on. 

“This Don Estevan de Arechiza, of whom you speak,’* 
resumed the Canadian ; “ he is the same we saw at La Poza 
is he not — the chief of the expedition?” 

“The same.” 

“ Ha ! is that the name he goes by here ?” cried Pep^ 
suddenly rousing himself from his apparent sleep. 


BOIS-ROSE AND FABIAN. 


222 


“ You know him, then?” said Tiburcio, interrogatively. 

“Yes — yes,” replied Pepe; “he is an old acquaintance, 
with whom I have some back-debts to settle — and that is why 
you see me in this part of the country. But if you desire to 
have the whole story — and from what has happened I fancy 
you will — I promise to tell it to you by-and-bye. I begin to 
fancy that our cause is a common one; and if so, I shall be 
able to lend you a hand. But there’s a time for everything ; 
and now, the most important thing for me is to get some 
sleep, so as to be ready for whatever turns up.” 

As Pepe said this, he made a movement to return to the 
horizontal position from which he had temporarily raised 
himself. 

“ Stay ! Pepe !” interrupted the Canadian, with an air of 
good-humour ; “ one instant before you fall asleep, or I shall 
say that you deserved the name of Pepe the Sleeper. Hear 
me ! This young man has made us an offer. He wishes us 
to accompany him to a placer he knows of, where you have 
only to stoop down and gather the gold in handfuls.” 

“Carramba!” exclaimed Pepe; “you have accepted the 
offer, of course ?” 

“ On the contrary, I have refused it.” 

“Then you’ve done wrong, Bois-Rose! That’s a thing 
that deserves consideration ; but we can talk it over by-and- 
bye — I must have some sleep first.” And as he uttered the 
last words he lay down again ; and the instant after, a loud 
sn ?re announced that he was soundly asleep ! 


224 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE RECOGNITION. 

The conversation, for a moment interrupted, was resu ned 
by Bois-Rose. 

“ So you shall find,” said he, “ in my comrade Pepe, a man 
ready to join you against this Don Estevan ; and, as Pepe’s 
enemies are mine, I shall be equally your partisan. We 
shall be able to offer you a brace of good rifles that never 
miss their aim. There is one, at all events, I think I can 
answer for.” 

As the trapper said this, he pointed to the long piece that 
rested by his side. 

Tiburcio cast his eyes upon the gun, and for a moment 
regarded it with some surprise. He appeared to look more 
particularly at the wood-work of the stock, which was 
notched and carved in a somewhat fantastic manner. Here 
there was a row of simple notches, and there another row oi 
marks resembling crosses. Then there were rows of double 
crosses ; and also one of triple crosses ; and finally a series 
pf stars. All these hieroglyphics appeared to have been cut 
with the blade of a knife ; but their purpose was a puzzle to 
Tiburcio. 

Bois-Rose, noticing an interrogative expression upon the 
face of the young man, at once entered upon an explana- 
tion. 

“ These marks,” said he, “ are the scores I keep of the 
savages that have fallen by my rifle. They themselves keep 
count by the number of scalps ; but this, you see, is more 


THE RECOGNITION. 


225 


Christian and decent. That row of crosses stands for Apa- 
che — there is a dozen in all. The double crosses are for 
Sioux — seven of them. Those with the triple branch are 
Pawnees — eight of them I have sent to the land of spirits. 
The stars are Crows — and number only four, that my rifle 
has caused to utter their death-yell. You see nine parallel 
notches ? — well, these are nine Flatheads that, thanks to me, 
will rob no longer in this world ; and finally, those marks of 
a roundish shape, which I needn’t count, are so many Black- 
feet, who have gone to their happy hunting-grounds. 
“ Now,” added the trapper, “ I think I can promise you a 
rifle that is not likely to miss fire, and the hand of a friend 
that will not fail you.” 

And as he said this, he stretched forth his huge hand, and 
grasping that of Tiburcio, pressed it frankly and firmly. 

The young man accepted the offer with a profusion of 
thanks. 

“ I had a presentiment,” said he, “ when I saw the light 
of your fire, that I should find friends around it.” 

“ You are not deceived,” warmly responded Bois-Rose ; 
“ you have found friends ; — but, pardon me when I ask you, 
have you no relatives or connexions with whom you could 
find a home ?” 

For a moment the colour mounted to the cheeks of Tibur- 
cio ; but after a slight hesitation, he replied : 

“ Why should I not be frank with you ? — I shall ! Know 
then, brave trappers, that surrounded as I am by enemies 
who seek my life ; disdained by the woman I have loved, 
and still love — I am alone in the world : I have neither father, 
nor mother, nor any relative that I know of!” 

“ Your father and mother — are they dead ?” inquired Bois« 
Rose, with an air of interest. 

“ I never knew either of them,” answered the young man, 
in a sad voice. 


10 * 


220 


TIIE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ You have never known them !” cried the Canadian, 
rising suddenly, and laying hold of a blazing fagot, which he 
held up to the face of Tiburcio. 

This fagot, light as it was, appeared as if a hundred- 
weight in the hand of the giant, tliat trembled like an aspen, 
under the convulsive emotions that were agitating his bosom, 
lie held the flame close to the countenance of the young 
man, and scanned his features with eager anxiety. 

“ But surely,” said he, “ you at least know in what coun- 
try you were born ?” 

“ I do not,” answered Tiburcio. “ But why do you ask 
me ? What interest ” 

u Fabian ! Fabian !” interrupted Bois-Rose, in a soft, 
appealing tone, as if he was speaking to an infant — “ what 
has become of you ?” 

“ Fabian !” repeated the young man ; “ I do not know the 
name.” 

“ Oh, my God !” exclaimed the Canadian, as if speaking 
to himself, “since this name recalls nothing to him, it is 
not he ! Why did I indulge in such a foolish hope ? And 
yet his features are just as Fabian’s should be at his age. 
Pardon me,” he continued, addressing himself to Tiburcio — • 
“ pardon me, young friend. I am a fool! I have lost my 
senses !” 

And throwing the fagot back upon the fire, he returned to 
his seat, placing himself with his back to the light, so that 
his countenance was concealed from the eyes of his com- 
panion. 

Both were for some minutes silent. Tiburcio was endea- 
vouring to penetrate the past, and recall some vague remini- 
scences of infancy, that still lingered in his memory. The 
widow of Arellanos had told him all she knew of his early 
history — of the gigantic sailor who had nursed him ; but it 
never occurred to Tiburcio that the great trapper by his side 


THE RECOGNITION. 


227 


••a coureur-de-bois of the American wilderness — could evei 
have been a seaman — much less that one of whom he had 
heard and read, and who was believed to have been 
father. The strange interest which the trapper had exhi- 
bited and the questions he had asked, were attributed by 
him to mere benevolence. He had no idea that the latter 
referred to any one whom he had formerly known, and who 
was now lost to him ; for Bois-Rose had as yet told him 
nothing of his own history. 

As Tiburcio continued to direct his thoughts upon the past, 
certain vague souvenirs began to shape themselves in his 
memory. They were only dim shadows, resembling the 
retrospect of a dream, and yet he was impressed with the 
belief that they had once been realities. He was the more 
confirmed in this idea, because such visions had occurred tc 
him before — especially upon the night when he sat by the 
death-bed of his adopted mother — the wddow of Arellanos. 
The revelations which she made to him before dying had 
revived in some mysterious way these shadowy souvenirs. 

After a while the young man made known his thoughts tc 
his companion by the camp-fire, whose interest appeared tc 
be forcibly re-awakened, and who listened with eager atten 
tion to every word. 

“ I fancy I can remember,” said Tiburcio — “ that is, if it 
be not a dream I have sometimes dreamt — a terrible scene. 
I was in the arms of a woman who held me closely to her 
breast— that I was rudely snatched from her embrace by a 
wicked man — that she screamed and cried, but then all at 
once became silent ; but after that I remember no more.” 

These w T ords appeared to produce an effect upon the Cana- 
dian ; and his interest visibly increased as he listened, 

“ You can remember no more ?” he inquired, in an eager 
tone. “ Can you not remember what sort of place it was in ? 
Was it in a house ? or do you not remember whether the sea 


228 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


was around you? That is a thing one is not likely to for- 
get.” 

“ No,” answered Tiburcio, “ I saw the great ocean for the 
first time at Guaymas — that was four years ago — and yet 
from what has been told me I should have also seen it when 
I was a child.” 

“ But when you saw it four years ago, did it not recall 
anything to your memory ?” 

“No, nothing.” 

“ N othing ?” repeated the Canadian, interrogatively, and 
in a despairing tone. 

“Nothing more than this same dream, which I have mis- 
taken no doubt for reality.” 

Bois-Rose again resumed his attitude of melancholy, and 
remained silent. 

After a pause Tiburcio continued : 

“ One figure appears to me in these visions that is different 
from the rest.” 

“What sort of figure?” inquired the Canadian, with 
renewed interest. 

“ That of a man of a hale rude countenance, but notwith- 
standing one of kindly expression. This man loved me, for 
I now have his face before me more clearly than I ever had ; 
and I can trace that expression upon it.” 

“And did you love him? can you remember that?” 
inquired the Canadian, while his heart beat with anxiety, as 
he awaited the answer. 

“ I am sure I did, he was so kind to me. I can remember 
he was kind to me.” 

A tear stole over the bronzed cheek of the trapper as he 
listened to these words ; and then turning his face once more 
so that it was hidden from the view of Tiburcio, he mur- 
mured to himself — 

“ Alas, poor Fabian ! he too loved me— I know he did.” 


THE RECOGNITION. 


229 


Then once more facing round to the fire, he hazarded a 
last question : 

“ Do you not remember one circumstance above all ? Do 
you not remember that this man was suddenly separated 
from you in the midst of a terrible affray — ?” 

The emotion under which Bois-Rose was suffering hin 
dered him from finishing his interrogatory. His head fell 
between his knees, and he awaited in trembling the response 
which Tiburcio might make. 

The latter was silent for some seconds, as if endeavouring 
to arrange the confused thoughts that had suddenly sprung 
up in his mind. 

“ Hear me !” said he at length, “you who appear to be a 
beacon guiding my memories of the past — hear what I can 
remember at this moment. There was one day of terror 
and confusion ; I saw much blood around me. The ground 
appeared to tremble — there was thunder or the noise of can- 
non. I was in great fear within a dark chamber, where I 
had been shut up — a man came to me ; it was the big man 
who loved me — ” 

Tiburcio paused for an instant, as if to grapple freshly 
with the vague reminiscences that were endeavouring to 
escape from him, while the Canadian appeared like one suf- 
fering the agony of suspense. 

“Yes,” resumed Tiburcio, “this man came to me — he 
lifted me up in his arms and carried me into the light — there 
he caused me to kneel down — oh ! I now remember what he 
said — ‘ kneel /’ said he, ‘ kneel my child 1 and pray for your 
mother /’ That is all I can remember.” 

The Canadian who was still seated, appeared to tremble 
convulsively, as he listened to these last words ; but when 
Tiburcio had finished speaking, he rose suddenly to his feet 
and rushing forward threw his arms wildly around the young 
man, while at the same time he cried out : n a broken voice : 


230 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Your mother whom I found dead beside you. Oh ! my 
God ! Once more in need of a father, hast thou sent him to 
me. Oh ! Fabian ! Fabian ! Come to my heart ! It was I 
who caused you to kneel — I am that man ! who in the bay of 
Elanchovi ” 

At this moment the report of a carbine echoed in the 
woods ; and a bullet whistling through the air, passed close 
to the head of Tiburcio, striking a tree that stood, behind 
him. 

This unexpected intruder at once put an end to the 
dialogue ; suddenly changing the tableaux of figures around 
the fire. Pepe, who had heard the shot, sprang instanta- 
neously to his feet, and all three stood grasping their weapons, 
ready to receive the enemy who had committed the dastardly 
attempt. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

SOUVENIRS OF ELANCHOVI. 

While these incidents were passing by the trapper’s camp- 
fire, Don Estevan was actively pursuing the execution of his 
plans. 

From what little he had heard and seen of Diaz he had 
conceived a high opinion of this person. He had observed 
in him a man of very different character from the crowd of 
adventurers who usually make up expeditions of the kind he 
was about to lead. Don Augustin had pronounced upon hia 
courage ; and the chief himself had noticed the reserve with 
which Diaz treated his new associates Cuchillo and Baraja. 
Moreover, some words with Diaz himself had confirmed Dou 


SOUVENIRS OF ELANCHOVI. 


281 


Estevan’s favourable impression, and convinced him that the 
Indian fighter was a man of brave and loyal heart. He re* 
garded Diaz, therefore, as a valuable member of the expedi- 
tion, and resolved to attach him as much as possible to hia 
service — not merely with a view to his assistance in the 
search and conquest of the Valley of Gold, but for that 
higher aim which he had proposed to himself — the establish- 
ing of a kingdom. 

While proceeding to the rendezvous designated by Cuchillo, 
Don Estevan took the opportunity of sounding Diaz on this 
important question. His bravery and address as a soldier 
were already known ; but these two qualities were not suffi- 
cient for the purposes of the Spaniard. Something more 
would be required of the man of whom it was his design to 
make both his lieutenant and confidant. 

The reply of Diaz to his very first question, convinced Don 
Estevan that Diaz was the very man he stood in need of ; 
but the time had not yet arrived for the leader to open him- 
self fully. He contented himself by simply observing, that 
in the event of the expedition being crowned with success, 
it might lead to an important affair — the separation of Sonora 
from the F ederal Republic. 

At this moment the conversation between the chief and 
Pedro Diaz was interrupted by the report of a carbine. It 
was the shot fired by Cuchillo, which had caused the sudden 
alarm at the camp-fire of the trappers, but which as already 
known had failed in its aim. 

If the outlaw had not yielded to his own cupidity, it is 
possible that Tiburcio would have fallen at that moment. 
The assassin would have taken with him his two associates 
Baraja and Oroche; and as three bullets instead of one 
would thus have been aimed at the intended victim, the 
chances are that some of them would have reached his life. 
But Cuchillo did not desire to have a partner in the deed. 


232 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


who could claim a share in the promised reward. He was 
determined to have the twenty onzas to himself ; and this it 
was that induced him to leave Baraja and Oroche behind him. 
His design was well conceived, and might have been exe- 
cuted to his satisfaction. No doubt his aim had been true 
enough ; but it chanced to be taken at an inopportune 
moment — -just as Tiburcio sprang forward under the im- 
pulse of the revelation which Bois-Rose had made to 
him. 

Having delivered his fire the outlaw did not even stop to 
ascertain its effect ; but turning suddenly away, he ran to 
recover his horse. The dread of being pursued and overtaken 
by the two trappers caused him to fly at full speed. He 
dreaded the vengeance of two men of whose singular courage 
and dexterity he had already been a witness. Fear, however, 
so confused his senses, that on facing round, he was unable 
to remember in what direction he had come, or where the 
horse had been left ; and for some seconds he stood hesitating 
and doubtful. 

Short as was this time, it might have proved fatal to him, 
but that his unexpected attack had somewhat disconcerted 
the camp. Both Bois-Rose and Tiburcio, interrupted while 
suffering the most vivid emotions, stood for some moments in 
a state of stupor, while Pepe was stretched out at full length, 
and supposed to be asleep. 

This was only apparent, however, for at the report he 
sprang to his feet as if he had heard the “ hish ” of the bul- 
let as it passed close to his ears. 

“ Carramba ! ” cried he, “ I am curious to know which of 
us that bit of lead was intended for, you or myself, young 
man ; for I have heard your conversation, and I am no stran- 
ger to this affair of Elanchovi.” 

“Elanchovi!” exclaimed the Canadian. “What! do you 
know anything of Elanchovi ?” 


SOUVENIRS -OF ELANCHOVI. 


233 


“ Ah, well do I,” answered Pepe. “ I have good reasons 
to know Elanchovi — but there’s no time to talk of it now ; I 
will settle that business by-and-bye, for it’s a secret you can’t 
comprehend without my help. So indeed it is the young 
count, and you have found him again ! W ell, that’s enough 
at present. Now, Bois-Rose, forward ! You take to the 
right of where the shot came from, while this young man and 
I go to the left. The cowardly rascal who fired will no doubt 
be trying to turn our camp, and by going both ways, one or 
other of us will be likely to chance upon him. Away, Bois- 
Rose, away !” 

Hurriedly pronouncing these words, Pepe grasped his rifle 
and struck off* to the left, followed by Tiburcio, who had no 
other weapon than his knife. The Canadian, suddenly stoop- 
ing, till his huge body was almost horizontal, glided off to 
the right under the branches of the trees, and then moved 
on with a silence and rapidity that showed how accustomed 
he was to this mode of progression. 

The camp-fire was abandoned to the guard of the half- wild 
horse, that, freshly affrighted by the report of the carbine, 
once more plunged and reared, until he had almost strangled 
himself in the noose of his lazo. 

Meanwhile the day was beginning to break, and the red 
light of the fire was every moment growing paler under the 
first rays of. the morning. 

“ Let us stop here,” said Pepe to Tiburcio, as soon as they 
had reached a thicket where they could have the advantage 
of seeing without being seen, and from which they com- 
manded a view of the road leading to the Salto de Agua. 
“ Stand closely behind this sumac bush,” continued he ; “ I 
have an idea that this picaron, who has such a crooked sight, 
will pass this way. If he do, I shall prove to him that the 
lessons Bois-Rose has given me have not been altogether lost 
upon me. I manage my piece somewhat better now than 


234 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


when I was in the service of her Catholic majesty. There 
now, stand close, and not a word above a whisper.” 

Tiburcio — or, as we may now call him, Fabian de Mediana— 
obeyed with pleasure the injunctions of his companion. His 
spirit, troubled with the few strange words he had heard from 
Bois-Rose and Pepe, was full of hope that the latter would 
be able to complete the revelation just begun ; and he waited 
with anxious silence to hear what the ex-carabinier might say. 

But the latter was silent. The sight of the young man — 
whom he had himself assisted in making an orphan, and de- 
spoiling not only of his title and wealth, but even of his 
name — renewed within him the remorse which twenty years 
had not sufficed to blot out from his memory. Under the 
dawning light he looked sadly but silently on the face of that 
child whom he had often seen playing upon the beach of 
Elanchovi. In the proud glance of the youth, Pepe saw once 
more the eyes of his high-born mother ; and in the elegant 
and manly form he recognized that of Don Juan de Mediana, 
his father ; but twenty years of a rude and laborious life — 
twenty years of a struggle with the toils and dangers of the 
desert — had imparted to Fabian a physical strength far supe- 
rior to that of him who had given him being. 

Pepe at length resolved to break the silence. He could no 
longer restrain himself, suffering as he was from such bitter 
memories. 

“ Keep your eye fixed upon the road,” said he, “ at yonder 
point, where it is lost among the trees. Watch that point 
whilst I talk to you. It is the way in which Bois-Rose and 
I do when there is any danger threatening us. At the same 
time listen attentively to what I say.” 

“ I listen,” answered Fabian, directing his glance as his 
companion had instructed him. 

“ Do you remember nothing of your young days, more than 
you have just related to the Canadian?” 


SOUVENIRS OF ELANCUOVI. 


235 


“Nothing — ever since I learnt that Arellanos was not m} 
father, I have tried to remember something, but to no pur 
pose. I do not even know who took care of me in my 
infancy.” 

“ No more know they of you, my poor young man. I am 
the only one who can tell you these things of which you are 
ignorant.” 

“For heaven’s sake speak !” impatiently cried Fabian. 

“ Hush ! not so loud !” cautioned the trapper. “ These 
woods, remote and solitary as they seem, nevertheless con- 
tain your deadliest enemy — unless, indeed, it was at me that 
the bullet was aimed. That may make a difference in your 
favour. In fact, since I have not been able to recognize you, 
I do not see how lie can ?” 

“ Who — of whom do you speak ?” brusquely demanded 
Fabian. 

“ Of your mother’s murderer — of the man who has robbed 
you of your titles, your honours, your wealth, and your 
name.” 

“ I should be noble and rich then ?” cried Fabian, inter- 
rogatively. “ Oh that I had but known it sooner — only 
yesterday !” 

Fabian’s thoughts were upon Rosarita. If he could have 
told this to her, in that sad parting interview, perhaps the 
result might have been different ! 

“Noble! yes!” replied Pepe, “you should be and shall 
yet, if I mistake not — but rich — alas! you are no more 
rich.” 

“ What matters it ?” responded Fabian, “ to-day it would 
be too late.” 

“Yes, but it does matter — ah! I know two men — one at 
least — who shall restore to you what you have lost, or die ir 
the attempt.” 

“ Of w*om do you speak ?” 


£36 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Of one who, without knowing it, aided to some extent in 
the assassination of your mother — of one whom that sad 
souvenir has a thousand times troubled the conscience — who, 
in the silence of the night in the midst of the woods, has 
often fancied he could hear that cry of anguish, which at the 
time he mistook for the wailing of the breeze against the 
cliffs of Elancliovi. It was the death scream of your poor 
mother. Ah ! Don Fabian de Mediana,” continued the 
speaker, in reply to the gesture of horror made by the young 
man, “ Ah ! that man’s conscience has reproached him in 
stronger terms than you could use ; and at this hour he is 
ready to spill the last drop of his blood for you.” 

The impetuous passions of Fabian, for a moment softened 
by thoughts of Rosarita, were again inflamed to their utmost 
He had already sworn to avenge the death of Arellanos, an ' 4 
here was a new object of vengeance, the murderer of his own 
mother ! The bland image of Rosarita at once disappeared, 
paling away as the fire-light eclipsed by the brighter gleams 
of the rising sun. 

“ My mother’s assassin !” cried he, his eyes flashing with 
furious indignation. “ And you know him ?” 

“ You also — you have eaten with him at the same table- 
under the same roof — that which you have just now quit- 
ted !” 

Pepe without further interrogation went on to recount 
what he knew of the events of Elanchovi. He told Fabian 
who he was — that Don Estevan was no other than his uncle, 
Antonio de Mediana — of the marriage of his mother with 
Don Juan his father — of the consequent chagrin of the 
younger brother — of his infamous design, and the manner it 
had been carried into execution. How Don Antonio, return- 
ing from the wars in Mexico, with his band of piratical 
adventurers, had landed in a boat upon the beach at Ense- 
nada — how he had entered the chateau, and with the help of 


THE MAN IN THE YELLOW JACKET. 


237 


his two subordinate villains had abstracted the Countess and 
her infant — himself Fabian — how the assassination of the 
mother had been committed in the boat, and the child only 
spared in the belief that the murderer’s steel was not neces- 
sary — in the belief that the waves and the cold atmosphere 
of a November night would complete the deed of death. 

Nor did Pepe conceal his own conduct connected with this 
affair. He disclosed all to his half-frantic listener — the after 
actions of Don Antonio with regard to himself — his imprison- 
ment and subsequent banishment to the fisheries of Ceuta — 
his escape at a later period to the prairies of America, and 
his meeting with Bois-Rose — with whom, however, no recog- 
nition had ever been established about the events of Elan- 
chovi — since neither had ever mentioned that name in 
hearing of the other. 

All these things Pepe narrated in turn, but briefly as the 
circumstances required. The rest of his history Fabian 
already knew — at least, the greater part of it ; Bois-Rose had 
partially made the revelation. 


CHAPTER XXXm. 

THE MAN IN THE YELLOW JACKET. 

Bois-Rose, as already stated, had gone alone in a direction 
opposite to that taken by his comrades. His mind full of 
the danger with which Fabian was surrounded — Fabian 
restored to him as if by a miracle — the Canadian continued 
to advance with rapid strides. He examined every open- 
ing and aisle of the forest with an eye keenly bent, and an 
ear straining to catch the slightest sound. 


288 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


After making a distance of a hundred yards or so, he 
stopped in his tracks, and laying himself flat along the grass, 
placed his ear to the ground and listened attentively. In a 
few seconds’ time a dull sound reached him — the hoof- 
strokes of a horse that seemed to approach the spot where he 
lay. 

“Pepe is right,” muttered he to himself, as he started to 
his feet ; u the skunk is coming this way. Good ! he has the 
advantage of me in being mounted ; but I have a rifle that I 
dare say will make up for the difference — enfant cle grdce ! 
he is here !” 

As this exclamation escaped him, the trapper was seen 
suddenly to raise his long rifle to hisshoulder. At the same 
instant a leathern jacket of yellowish colour appeared at some 
distance off among the leaves, and at about the height of a 
man on horseback. 

The sharp crack of a rifle was instantly followed by the 
disappearance of the leathern jacket : and, since for marksmen 
like Bois-Rose to take aim is to hit, the latter had no doubt 
that his enemy had fallen to the ground either dead or 
wounded. For a moment he thought of reloading ; but the 
ardour of his vengeance urged him to rush forward and 
make sure of his victim. In the event that the assassin should 
have companions, the trapper trusted to his great strength to 
equalize the chances of a hand-to-hand conflict. Neglecting 
all further precautions, therefore, like the hunter rushing 
upon the wounded stag, he dashed forward through the trees 
toward the spot where his enemy had fallen. 

As he drew near, he could perceive a horse rearing furi- 
ously in front of him, crushing the underwood as he plunged 
violently from side to side. The horse was saddled and 
bridled, but there was no one in the saddle. This ied 
Bois-Rose to the belief that his bullet had dismounted the 
rider. 


THE MAN IN THE YELLOW JACKET. 


239 


All at once a shrill whistle rang through the trees ; and 
the horse uttered a loud neigh — as if in reply — galloping off 
in the direction from which the signal had come. After 
making several lengths through the bushes, the horse came to 
a stop. Bois-Rose ran after, and in a few bounds was beside 
the animal. It was still dark under the shadow of the trees, 
but the Canadian could make out the form of a man upon 
the ground, at that moment struggling in the act of raising 
himself. J ust then the horse dropped upon his knees, the 
man grasping the pommel of the saddle succeeded in crawl- 
ing into it ; a signal started the animal to his feet again ; and 
before the trapper could come up to the spot, both horse 
and man were fast disappearing behind the foliage of the 
trees. 

Bois-Rose launched after them a furious malediction ; and 
reloading his rifle as rapidly as he could, sent a bullet in the 
same direction ; but the continued strokes of the horse’s feet 
falling upon his ear told him that his random shot had been 
delivered to no purpose. 

Without following further, he turned in the opposite direc- 
tion, and after imitating three times in succession, the howl- 
ing of the prairie wolf — a signal for Pepe — he strode off to 
the spot where the yellow jacket had fallen from the saddle. 

There he perceived the grass pressed down as if where a 
man’s body had fallen upon it ; and at about the height of a 
man on horseback, the branches of the sumac tree were broken, 
as though the horseman had caught at them in falling. There 
were no traces of blood, however — not a drop could be seen ; 
but a carbine lying upon the ground showed that the 
horseman, in his hurry to escape, had left his weapon behind 
him. 

“ My poor Fabian I” muttered he, “ this will serve for him. 
In these woods a knife is not much worth ; this will be a 
better weapon for him.” 


240 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Somewhat consoled by this reflection, the trapper now 
turned to go back in the direction of the camp-fire. He had 
not made a dozen steps, when the sharp report of a rifle fell 
upon his ear. 

“ It is Pepe’s !” he cried. “ I know it. God grant he may 
have made a better shot than I have done !” 

Just then a second report echoed through the woods. It 
sounded sadly on the ear of the Canadian — who did not 
recognize it — and being now the victim of a terrible uncer- 
tainty, he ran with all speed in the direction whence the 
sound had come. 

Another report that now reached him added to the anguish 
of his suspense ; for this time, like the last, it was not the 
well-known crack of his comrade’s rifle. 

Almost at the same instant, however, he heard Pepe’s voice 
calling out : 

“Come back, Fabian! come back! What is the use 
of ’’ 

A third detonation seemed to cut short the speech of the 
ex-coastguard — as if he had fallen by the bullet — while no 
voice of Fabian was heard to make reply. A profound and 
frightful silence followed the last shot, which was broken 
only by the voice of the mock-bird, who appeared imperfectly 
to imitate the words that had been spoken, and then com- 
menced chanting a plaintive song — as if mourning the death 
of those who had fallen by the shots. 

The Canadian ran on for some moments, until — unable 
longer to restrain himself — he paused, and cried out, at the 
risk of exposing himself to some ambushed enemy : 

“ Hola ! Pepe ! — where are you ?” 

“Here!” answered the voice of the ex-carabinier. “We 
are here, straight before you — Don Fabian and myself. 
Come on !” 

A cry of joy was all the response the Canadian could give ; 



This time the animal gave a furious leap across the gulf and reached the opposite 
bank ; but one of his feet slipped, and after a short struggle he fell backwards, 
both horse and rider disappearing in the flood. — P age 247. 
























* 

* „ « 

* 


. 











■> 




. 







. 



















THE MAN IN THE YELLOW JACKET. 


241 


and the next moment another joyous shout, as he came upon 
the ground and perceived that both his companions were still 
in safety. 

“ The skunk ought to be wounded,” said he ; “ my shot 
caused him to tumble out of his saddle. You were perhaps 
more fortunate than I ? I heard your piece speak — have you 
thro wed him, Pepe ?” 

Pepe shook his head in the negative. 

“If you mean the fellow in the yellow jacket,” said he, “I 
fancy the devil has him under his protection ; for I had a fair 
sight on him — and yet he’s off! He’s not alone, however; 
there are four other horsemen along with him ; and in one 
of these gentleman I have recognized him whom they here 
call Don Estevan de Arechiza, but who is no other than ” 

“ I have seen only the fellow in the leather jacket,” inter- 
rupted the Canadian ; “ and here is his gun, Fabian, for you. 
But are you quite safe ?” continued he, in an anxious tone. 
“You are sure you are not wounded?” 

“Nq, no — my friend — my father!” cried Fabian, flinging 
himself into the trapper’s arms, as if they had just met after 
a long separation. 

“ Oh, Pepe !” cried the Canadian, his eyes filling with 
tears, as he pressed Fabian convulsively against his great 
bosom, and then held him at a distance as if to get a better 
view of him. “ Is he not grand ? Is he not beautiful? He 
— once my little Fabian — oh !” 

“ Pepe has told me all,” said Fabian. “ Among these men 
is the murderer of my mother.” 

“Yes,” exclaimed Pepe; “and by the Virgin of Atocha 
let us not delay here. There is no time for sentiment — the 
villain must not escape us. Justice, so long evaded, must 
now have its due.” 

“As God wills!” rejoined Fabian. 

The three friends now held a rapid council as to what 

11 


242 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


course was best to be taken. It was concluded by their 
resolving to follow the horsemen as rapidly as possible along 
the road which these had taken — the road to Tubac. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE BLOOD OF THE MEDIANAS. 

After having uselessly discharged their carbines several 
times, from too great a distance for the balls to be dangerous, 
Oroche and Baraja had rejoined Cuchillo. 

The outlaw was as pale as death ; the ball fired at him by 
the Canadian had creased his head, and it was this had caused 
him to fall from his horse. Doubtless Bois-Rose would then 
have crushed him, like a venomous reptile, but for the horse. 
The noble animal, seeing that his master could not raise him- 
self unaided, bent down that he might seize his mane, and so 
reach the saddle, and when he felt his master once more 
firmly seated on his back, he had set off at full gallop, and 
carried him away beyond the reach of Bois Rose. 

This was not the only danger run by the outlaw. When 
his accomplices had rejoined him and all three had come up 
with Don Estevan and Diaz, another danger was in store for 
him. The Spaniard had no need to interrogate Cuchillo in 
order to learn that Fabian had once more escaped. From 
the disappointed air of the two followers, and the paleness 
of the outlaw, who was still tottering in his saddle, Don 
Estevan guessed all. 

Deceived in his expectation, the rage of the Spaniard burst 
Out. He rode up to Cuchillo, crying, in a voice of thunder* 


THE BLOOD OF THE MEDIANA8. 


243 


“ Cowardly and clumsy knave !” and in his blind fury, with 
out reflecting that Cuchillo alone knew the secret of the 
Golden Valley, he drew his pistol. Luckily for the outlaw, 
Pedro Diaz threw himself quickly between him and Don 
Estevan, whose fury gradually subsided. 

“ And those men who are with him — who are they ?” cried 
he. 

“ The two tiger-killers,” replied Baraja. 

A short deliberation took place in a low voice between 
Don Estevan and Pedro Diaz, which ended by these words, 
pronounced aloud : 

“We must destroy the bridge of the Salto de Agua, and 
the devil is in it if they overtake us before we reach Tubac ;” 
and at this they all set off at full gallop. 

Fabian had heard Don Estevan say to Cuchillo, the night 
before, that he should only pass two hours at the hacienda 
before his departure; and as the last events which had taken 
place at Don Augustin’s must have tended to shorten his 
stay, there was no time to hesitate. The horse of Pepe 
became a precious auxiliary in following the fugitives, and, 
if necessary, for cutting off their retreat. It remained 
to be decided who should mount him, and undertake an 
enterprise so perilous as opposing singly the flight of five 
armed horsemen. 

“ I shall follow them,” said Fabian. 

So saying, he rushed towards the animal, who recoiled in 
terror ; but seizing the cord by which he was tethered, the 
young man threw a handkerchief over his eyes. Trembling 
in every limb, the horse remained quiet, while Fabian 
brought Pepe’s saddle, which he placed on his back, and 
then arranged the lazo so as to form at once a bridle and a 
snaffle. He was about to mount without removing the hand- 
kerchief, when Pepe, at a sign from Bois-Rose, interposed. 

“ Gently,” said he, “ if any one here has .1 right to mount 


244 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


this animal, it is I — I who captured him, and to whom he 
belongs.” 

“ Do you not see,” cried Fabian, impatiently, “ that he is 
not branded , which shows that he has never yet been 
mounted ? if you care for the safety of your limbs, I advise 
you not to try him.” 

“That is my business,” said Pepe, advancing; but scarcely 
had the animal felt his hand on the pommel, and his foot on 
the stirrup, than with a furious bound he threw him ten feet 
off. Pepe uttered an angry oath, but Fabian vaulted into 
the saddle without touching the stirrups. 

“Stop! Fabian, stop!” cried Bois-Rose, in a tone of 
anguish, “ you must not go alone and risk falling into their 
hands.” 

But already Fabian had removed the handkerchief; and 
the noble animal, his eyes restored to the light, made furious 
efforts to free himself from a weight which he felt for the first 
time, but at last stood motionless and trembling. Bois-Rose 
profited by this moment to seize the bridle, but was shaken 
off by another furious bound, and the terrified animal rushed 
away with such impetuosity that it was no longer in human 
power to restrain him. For a few moments the Canadian 
watched the intrepid rider struggling with the fury of the 
horse, and then both disappeared from his sight. 

“They will kill him,” cried he; “they are five to one. 
Let us follow as closely as we can, Pepe, to protect once 
more my lately recovered child.” 

Bois-Rose threw his rifle over his shoulder, and was already 
taking gigantic strides after Fabian. 

“ The horse is difficult to manage,” cried he ; “I am cer- 
tain that he will not go straight ; we shall perhaps arrive as 
soon as he. Ah ! Don Estevan, your evil star has guided 
you to these outlaws.” 

Fabian, like those legendary cavaliers whom nothing 


THE BLOOD OF THE MEDIAN AS. 


245 


appals, passed with fearful rapidity over hillocks, ravines, and 
fallen trunks of trees. Pepe was not wrong ; in spite of tho 
start that the pursued had of him, Fabian would soon have 
overtaken them, could he have guided his horse ; but luckily, 
or unluckily for him, the intractable animal deviated con- 
stantly from the track ; and it was only after prodigious 
efforts that he could bring him back to the road, which 
wound through the wood, and on which the traces of the five 
fugitives were visible, and thus the pursuer constantly lost 
ground. 

However, after an hour of this struggle, the horse began 
to find that he had met with his master, and that his strength 
was becoming exhausted ; the curb, held by a vigorous hand, 
compressed his jaws, his speed gradually relaxed, his bounds 
became less violent, and he ended by obeying the hand 
which guided him. As if by common consent, man and horse 
stopped to take breath. Fabian profited by this rest to look 
around him ; his heart began to beat less rapidly and he 
could both hear and see. Trampled leaves, newly broken 
branches and the prints of horses’ feet, were clear indications 
of the passage of those who fled before him. 

Suddenly the sound of falling water struck upon his ear. 
In another moment the fugitives would have gained the rus- 
tic bridge which crossed the wide and deep bed of the tor- 
rent ; their united efforts might destroy it, and then all pur- 
suit would be useless. While he was seeking for a ford Don 
Estevan would escape through the vast plains which 
extended to Tubac. This thought aroused anew the young 
man’s passion ; and pressing his horse’s side he galloped 
along the path, the windings of which still hid his enemies 
from view. This time his horse had grown docile and flew 
along the road. 

The noise of the torrent soon drowned that of the horse’s 
feet, but before long human voices mingled with it. This 


246 


THE "WOOD-RANGERS. 


sound produced upon Fabian as powerful an effect as hia 
repeated blows did upon his horse ; a few minutes more and 
he would confront the enemies whom he was burning to 
reach. The impetuous pace of a horse excites a man to the 
greatest degree ; horse and rider re-act upon each other, and 
Fabian in his excitement forgot the inequality of numbers, 
therefore the spectacle which met his eyes was one that 
caused him a bitter disappointment. 

As already stated, a bridge composed of trunks of trees 
roughly cut, joined the two steep banks, between which 
roared the Salto de Agua. This bridge broad enough for a 
horse to pass over, rested at each end on the bare rock with- 
out anything to secure it, and the strength of a few men 
might overturn the trees and render the crossing impos- 
sible. 

Just as Fabian reached the bridge, four horses, urged on 
by their riders, were pulling vigorously, with ropes attached 
to the trees, which at that moment yielding, fell with a crash 
into the torrent. 

Fabian uttered a cry of rage. A man turned round — it 
was Don Estevan, but Don Estevan separated from him by 
an impassable barrier, and looking triumphantly at him. 

Fabian, his clothes torn to pieces by the brambles, and his 
face so transformed by fury as to be scarcely recognizable, 
rushed forward in his blind rage to cross the river. But his 
horse reared violently and refused to proceed. 

“ Fire on him !” cried Don Estevan, “ or the madman will 
derange all our plans. Fire I tell you !” 

Three carbines were already pointed at Fabian, -when at 
some distance behind him loud voices were heard, and Pope 
and the Canadian appeared. At the sight of these formida- 
ble rifles, the outlaws hesitated ; Fabian made a new effort, 
but the frightened horse plunged and reared as before. 

“ Fire !” again cried Don Estevan. 


A bird’s eye view op the desert. 


247 


“Wo to him who does!” shouted the Canadinn, “and 
you, Fahian, in heaven’s name, retire !” 

“Yes, it is I, Fabian!” cried the Count, in a voice which 
drowned the thunder of the torrent and the cries of the 
hunters, “Fabian, who comes to avenge his mother’s blood 
upon the infamous Don Antonio de Mediana !” 

Then, while his voice still sounded in the ears of Don 
Estevan, who for the first time in his life stood motionless 
with terror, the impetuous young man drew his knife and 
pricked his horse with it. 

This time the animal gave a furious leap across the gulf 
and reached the opposite bank ; but one of his feet slipped, 
and after a short struggle he fell backwards, both horse and 
rider disappearing in the flood. A cry of anguish burst from 
the Canadian and one of triumph from the opposite bank ; 
but both were quickly drowned by the roar of the torrent 
as it closed over its double prey. 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

A BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF THE DESERT. 

About a fortnight after the events just related, other 
scenes were taking place in a part of the desert which 
extends from Tubac to the American frontier. But before 
referring to the actors let us describe the theatre on which 
they once more met. 

The vast plains which separate Mexico from the United 
States are known only by the vague reports of hunters or 
gold seekers — at least that part watered by the river Gila 


248 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


and its tributaries. This river, which takes its rise in the 
distant mountains of the Mimbres, passes under various 
names through an immense extent of sandy barren country, 
the arid monotony of which is interrupted only by the 
ravines hollowed by the waters, which, in their erratic 
course, ravage without fertilizing. 

The reader must imagine himself at a spot distant about 
sixty leagues from Tubac. The sun, inclining towards the 
west, was already darting oblique rays ; it was the hour when 
the wind, although still hot, no longer seems to come out of 
the mouth of a furnace. It was about four o’clock in the 
afternoon, and light white clouds, tinted with rose colour, 
indicated that the sun had run two thirds of his course ; 
above, in the deep blue sky, an eagle hung motionless over 
the desert, the only visible inhabitant of the air. From 
the height where the king of birds balanced himself majesti- 
cally, his eye could perceive on the immense plain, many 
human beings, some of whom were in groups, and others at 
so great a distance apart as to be visible to him alone, and 
not to each other. 

Just beneath the soaring bird was a kind of irregular 
natural circle formed by a hedge of cacti, with their fleshy 
leaves and thorny points, with which were mingled the pale 
foliage of the hois defer . At one end of this hedge was an 
elevated piece of ground two or three feet high, with a flat 
top, which overlooked it on all sides. All around this 
entrenchment, untouched by the hand of man, stretched arid 
plains or a succession of little hillocks which appeared like 
motionless waves in a sea of sand. 

A troop of about sixty men on horseback had alighted in 
this place. The steaming horses showed that they had 
travelled fast. There was a confused noise of human voices, 
the neighing of horses, and the rattling of every kind of 
weapon — for it did not appear to be a regular cavalry corps. 


A bird’s eye view of the desert. 


249 


Lances with red pennons, muskets, carbines and double* 
barrelled guns were hanging from the saddle bows. 

Some of the men were cleaning their horses, while others 
were lying on the sand under the shelter of the cacti; a little 
further back were a number of mules advancing towards the 
halting-place, and behind them again, some twenty carts, 
heavily laden. 

Visible to the eyes of the eagle, in the road along which 
these travellers must have passed, were corpses of men and 
animals strewn on the arid plain, marking the bloody track 
of this band of adventurers. Doubtless our readers have 
already recognized the Gold-seekers under the command of 
Don Estevan de Arechiza. 

When the mules and the carts joined the horsemen, the 
mules were unharnessed and the horses unsaddled ; the carts 
were unloaded and then linked together with iron chains, 
while the saddles of the animals were piled upon one 
another, and served with the cacti to fill up the spaces be- 
tween the wheels and form a formidable barricade. The ani- 
mals were tied to the carts, and. the cooking utensils placed 
by the side of the brushwood brought from a distance ; a por- 
table forge was established ; and this colony, which seemed 
as though it had risen from the ground as by a miracle, was 
soon busily employed, while the anvil resounded with the 
blows which were fashioning horses’ shoes and repairing 
wheels, 

A man richly dressed, but whose clothes were faded with 
sun and dust, alone remained on horseback in the middle of 
the camp, looking earnestly around him. This man was the 
chief of the troop. Three other men were occupied mean- 
while iu fixing the poles of a tent, and then placing on its 
summit a red banner on which was painted a scutcheon with 
six golden stars on an azure ground, with the motto, “ I will 
watch.” The chief then alighted, and after having given an 

11 * 


253 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


order to one of his men, who mounted and left the camp, 
he entered the tent. All these preparations had occu 
pied barely half-an-hour, so much were they simplified by 
habit. 

To the right of the camp, but far distant, arose from the 
sand a mass of gum-trees and ironwoods , the only trees pro- 
duced by these arid plains. Here a second troop had halted. 
They had neither carts nor baggage mules, but were about 
double the number of the other party. By the bronzed com- 
plexions of the riders, some almost naked, others covered 
with skins and with waving plumes of eagle’s featfiers, and 
by the brilliant red and yellow with which they were 
painted, it was easy to recognize a party of Indians. 

Ten of them — doubtless the chiefs — gravely seated round 
a fire which produced more smoke than flame, were passing 
from hand to hand the calumet or pipe of council. Their 
arms, consisting of leathern bucklers — surrounded by a thick 
fringe of feathers — axes, and knives, were laid by their side. 
At some little distance and out of hearing, five warriors held 
a number of horses, stuing^y accoutred* with wooden sad- 
dles covered with skins. These horses belonged to the 
chiefs, and seemed difficult to restrain. 

As one of the chiefs passed the calumet to the others, he 
pointed to a spot in the horizon. The eyes of a European 
would only have seen a slight grey cloud against the blue 
sky, but the Indian recognized a column of smoke — that 
rising from the camp of the whites. 

At that moment an Indian messenger arrived with some 
news, and all the party crowded round him. 

Now between the two camps the eye of the eagle could 
discover another rider, but alone and out of sight of both 
parties. It was doubtless he who was being sought for by 
the messenger despatched from the camp of the gold-seekers. 
This man rode a grey horse, and seemed to be seeking a 


A bird’s eye view of the desert. 


251 


track ; he was dressed as a European ; and his complexion, 
though much bronzed, denoted that he belonged to that race. 

It was Cuchillo, who, resuming his course, caused his 
horse to mount one of the hillocks, where he could perceive 
the columns of smoke arising from the two camps. The 
Indians perceived him at the same time : for a long howl, 
like that of a hundred panthers, arMe, and the king of birds, 
terrified by the tumult, soon became only a black speck in 
the clouds. The outlaw fled rapidly in the opposite direc- 
tion and the Indians rushed after him. 

Still further in the horizon, placed so as to form a trian- 
gle with the other camps, was a third group of men scarcely 
visible to the eagle himself. They were encamped upon a 
small islet in the midst of a river fringed with trees, and 
over which rbsted a light fog. The desert of Tubac ended 
at this river, which, flowing from east to west, divided, a 
league below the island, into two branches, and formed a 
vast delta — bounded by a chain of hills which were now 
shrouded by the fog. 

In this delta, more than a league square, lay the Golden 
Valley. 

All these different groups of people will soon meet, like 
the waves which, raised by oposing winds, break against 
each other in the immensity of the ocean. 

Thanks to a skillful manoeuvre of Pedro Diaz, the expedi- 
tion, on arriving near the Golden Valley, had concealed for 
two days from the Indians the route tffey had taken. But 
to associate himself with sixty companions *did not please 
Cuchillo, who, under the pretence of reconnoitring the coun- 
try, had separated himself from his companions. It was to 
indicate the position of their bivouac that they had lighted a 
fire in the camp, and to find him that Don Estevan had sent 
out a messenger. Cuchillo, indeed, was the only one wh<? 
could guide them to the Golden Valley. 


252 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


A bold thought was in Cuchillo’s mind, but the execution 
of this project was yet to lead him to a fearful punishment, 
which he well deserved. We cannot, however, speak of this 
at present. 

A man, as we have said, had arrived at the Indian camp 
with news. This man, in seeking the enemies whom they 
were pursuing, had reached the bank of the river, and 
concealed by the willows, had perceived three white men. 
These three men could only be Bois-Rose, Pepe the Span- 
iard, and Fabian de Mediana. It was indeed this trio of 
friends. 

We left Bois-Rose and Pepe on the banks of the torrent in 
which the young Spaniard, excited by the tale he had heard 
of his mother’s assassination, and full of fury, had nearly 
found a tomb. Fortunately the fall had been fatal only to 
the horse, and the rider had escaped by a miracle. The 
three friends had resumed their pursuit ; but, forced to pro- 
ceed on foot while their enemies were on horseback, they 
had only arrived at Tubac on the day the expedition left it, 
after having travelled sixty leagues in five days. 

Then it became more easy to follow the adventurers — 
who were retarded by their baggage — and ten days’ march 
had brought the intrepid companions to the same point as 
their enemies ; for although forced for safety to take a dif- 
ferent route, they had rarely lost sight of the fires of their 
bivouacs. Surrounded as he was, however, Don Estevan 
could not be easily captured. 

When the Indian messenger had finished his report, the 
warriors deliberated afresh. The youngest of the ten, 
called upon to speak first, said : 

“ The whites have sometimes the legs of a deer, sometimes 
the courage of the puma, and the cunning of the jackal. 
They have concealed their route for two days from eyes 
■which can trace that of the eagle in the air ; it is anothei 


A BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF THE DESERT. 


259 


ruse on their part to scatter their warriors, and we must seek 
them near the island in river Gila.” 

After a minute’s silence, another spoke : 

“The whites have doubtless a thousand stratagems at their 
service, but can they increase their stature ? No ; and if on 
the contrary they could make themselves . so small that the 
Indian eye could not perceive them, they would do it. 
Our enemies are from the south — these men just discovered 
come from the north — it is not therefore towards the island 
that we must go.” 

In the midst of these contradictory opinions, the shouts of 
the Indians, at the sight of Cuchillo, burst forth, compelling 
the chiefs to suspend their deliberations until the warriors 
who pursued him had returned. When they reappeared, they 
reported that they had discovered the trail of the whites. 
Then the second chief who had spoken — a man of tall stature 
and darker in colour than most of his tribe — whence his 
name of the Blackbird — again spoke : 

“ I have said that that the men who come fijpm the north 
could not form part of those who come from 'the south. I 
have always seen that the south and the north are enemies 
of one another like the winds which blow from opposite 
quarters. Let us send a message to the three warriors on 
the island and ask them to join us against the other whites, 
and the Indian will be gladdened at the death of his enemies 
by the hands of each other.” 

But this advice, dictated by prudence and knowledge of 
mankind, found no support in the council. The Blackbird 
was forced to yield, and it was agreed that the mass of the 
troop should march against the camp, while only a small 
detachment should be sent to the island. 

A quarter of an hour after, one hundred men set off for the 
camp ; while twenty others went towards the island, thirsting 
for the blood of the three men who had taken shelter there. 


254 


TIIE WOOD-RANGERS. 


It is towards the end of the month of March that we find 
the gold-seekers and their chief in the camp described, after 
they had lost by the Indians and by the numberless dangers 
of the desert, forty of their men. But although weakened 
by this loss, still the chances between them and the Indians, 
ever ready to defend their territory, were nearly equal. 
On each side was cunning, and the habit of following an 
almost invisible track, while the cupidity of the one was 
equalled by the ferocity of the other. 

Nevertheless the enthusiasm was no longer so great as on 
the day when, after having celebrated a mass for the success 
of their expedition, the adventurers had set off from Tubao, 
uttering cries of triumph, which were accompanied by the 
sound of cannon and the acclamations of the inhabitants. No 
precaution had been omitted by Don Estevan, who seemed 
to foresee everything. Until then, in these kind of expedi- 
tions, each man had acted for himself, and trusted to himself 
and his own horse for his safety ; but the Spaniard had disci- 
plined this band, and forced them to obey him, while the 
carts that he had brought served both for transport and for 
defence. Thus moved the ancient people of the north in 
their invading journeys towards the south of Europe. No 
former expedition had penetrated so far into the desert as 
had this one, under the guidance of its skillful chief. 

The responsibility which weighed upon Don Estevan 
would of itself have been enough to account for the clouds 
upon his brow ; but perhaps he thought more of the past 
than of the present or the future. He had been able to com- 
pare the energy of Fabian with the pusillanimity of the Sen- 
ator Tragaduros. Carried away by the course of events, he 
had thought only of removing his nephew from his path ; 
but when the young man disappeared in the gulf shouting a 
fierce menace to his father’s brother, he had suddenly felt an 
immense void, and a scarcely- closed woimd had re-opened in 


A bird’s eye view of the desert. 


255 


his heart. He missed one thing amidst all his prosperity ; 
and in spite of himself, the pride of race revived in his breast, 
and an ardent sympathy had seized upon him for the ardent 
young man, loved by Dona Rosarita, who might perhaps 
have replaced the Senator in the execution of his bold plan. 

He regretted having allowed himself to be led away bj 
circumstances, and at the moment when the last of th<s 
Medianas — except himself— disappeared from his eyes, he 
regretted an heir so worthy to bear the name. Now, when 
on the eve of mounting another step by the conquest of the 
Golden Valley, this regret became more vivid. 

This was not the only oare, however, which then preoccu- 
pied AntQnio de Mediana ; the absence of Cuchillo made him 
uneasy, and he began to have a suspicion of this man’s 
perfidy. 

Cuchillo had gained considerably upon the Indians who 
pursued him ; but no sooner did he perceive through the 
hedge the entrenchment raised by his companions than he 
slackened his pace. The distance at which he still was from 
the camp was too great to enable him to be perceived by the 
sentinels ; and when he saw the Indians who pursued him 
halt at sight of the column of smoke, he stopped altogether. 
His plan was to go into the camp as late as possible, so as 
only to give the alarm at the last moment. He knew enough 
of the Indians to play this dangerous game with the most 
perfect sang froid / he knew that they never attacked but 
with superior numbers, also that some hours would elapse 
before they decided on attacking the camp at all ; that, 
satisfied with having recovered the track of their enemies, his 
pursuers would return and carry the report to their com. 
panions. 

He was right ; and enchanted at the effect of his ruse, the 
outlaw lay down behind a mound of earth, ready to resume 
his course when his senses should warn him of the approach 


256 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


of danger. By regaining the camp only a few minute! 
before the attack, he hoped. also to escape the questions of 
Don Estcvan. 

“We should have sixty to divide the treasure,” thought 
he, “had I not taken care to diminish that number. Then, 
while the whites and reds are fighting together, I ” 

A distant explosion, like that of a rifle, interrupted his 
meditations. This sound appeared to come from the north, 
and indeed proceeded from the river, where were Bois-Rose 
and his companions. 

“ It is strange that such a sound should proceed from that 
quarter,” said Cuchillo, “ for the white camp is eastward and 
the red westward.” 

A second shot was heard ; then a third, followed by a short 
silence, to which succeeded a continual firing. Cuchillo 
trembled. He fancied that a second white party, distinct 
from his, were about to seize the coveted treasures. Then he 
feared that Don Estevan had despatched a detachment to 
take possession of the Golden Valley. But reason soon 
showed him the little probability of either of these surmises. 
A party of men must have left traces which he should have 
discovered during the two days he had been scouring the 
country ; and then it was not probable that Don Estevan 
would have dared to weaken his force by dividing it. He 
therefore lay still, and concluded that the sounds proceeded 
from some party of American hunters surprised by the natives. 

We must return to the camp of Don Antonio, where the 
firing had also been heard, and where it had given rise to a 
host of conjectures. 

Evening had come on, and red clouds marked the fiery 
trace of the setting sun ; the earth began to freshen up at 
the approach of night, and the crescent of the moon to grow 
more and more brilliant, under the light of which the camp 
appeared picturesque. 


A BIRD’S EYE VIEW OP THE DESER1, 


257 


On the rising ground which overlooked the whole entrench 
ment, arose, as we have said, the chiefs tent with its floating 
banner. A feeble light from within indicated that he was 
still watching, and several fires, made in holes dug in the 
sand or surrounded by stones — lest their light should betray 
their position — threw a subdued red glare around ; while, in 
case of attack, fagots were prepared to illumine the camp. 
Groups of men lying down, and others preparing the even- 
ing meal, were mingled with the horses and mules, who 
were eating their rations of maize. 

The careless and satisfied look upon every face, showed 
that these men confided the care of their defence wholly to 
their chief. At the entrance to the tent lay a man, like a 
dog watching over his master ; and from his long hair and 
the guitar by the side of his rifle, J it was easy to recognize 
Oroche. His time seemed to be divided between the con- 
templation of a heaven glittering with stars, and the care of 
keeping up a fire of green wood, the smoke of which rose in 
a vertical column silvered by the moon. Beyond the 
entrenchments the moonlight whitened the plain, and even 
the fog which covered the summits of a chain of mountains 
which were visible in the horizon. 

Behind the carts paced the sentinels, carbine in hand. 
Among the various groups of men scattered about were 
Benito, the servant of Don Estevan, and Baraja. They were 
engaged in conversation. 

“ Senor Benito,” said Baraja, speaking to the old herds- 
man, u you who are so well acquainted with all the affairs of 
these deserts, can you explain to me what is the cause of 
these shots, which we have been hearing ever since noon, 
and which can only be fired by our enemies, the Indians ?” 

“ It is difficult to say,” answered Benito ; “ but certainly 
they must have some good reason for wasting so much pow- 
der — a scarce article among them. It appears probable 


258 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


enough that poor Cuchillo is captured ; or may be the Send 
Gayferos, who was sent after him.” 

“ But why should they keep firing from time to time ? — 
one shot would be enough to put an end to either Cuchillo 
or Gayferos ; whereas we have heard volleys.” 

“ Ah ! it may be that the savages are practising one of 
their horrible modes of punishment — perhaps they are firing 
at their victims merely for the sport. There is one terrible 
torture they inflict — I remember to have been .” 

“ Hold there, friend Benito !” cried Baraja, interrupting 
him, “ no more of your horrible stories ; I have not forgot- 
ten that frightful night by the well of La Poza.” 

“ Well,” rejoined the herdsman, “ unless they are firing at 
either Cuchillo or Gayferos — or perhaps at both — I cannot 
divine the cause of their continued fusillade. These Indians 
are as curious as the very devil ; and they can extract a 
secret almost as effectually as the Holy Inquisition itself. 
Perhaps they are frightening either the guide or Gayferos to 
betray the situation of our camp.” 

“ God forbid they should succeed !” exclaimed Baraja. 

“I join you in the prayer,” said the ex-herdsman; “but 
I cannot help remarking, how imprudent in our chief to 
permit the fire. The smoke has been rising all day like a 
column. In an atmosphere like this it may be seen for 
leagues off!” 

“ I agree with you,” replied Baraja ; “ but then you know 
it was kindled at the express wish of the guide — so that he 
might find the way to where we should be encamped. Both 
humanity towards Cuchillo, as well as our own interest in his 
safety, required us to light the fire.” 

“ Ah ! that is not so certain. Between ourselves, I 
haven’t much confidence in this Cuchillo. He appears to ba 
one of those guides whose paths always end in quagmires.” 

“ But have you not heard the rumour of the camp ?” 


A bird’s eye view of the desert. 


259 


“ What rumour? That Don Estevan is not going by mere 
hazard to search for a mine of gold ; but that he already 
knows of the existence of a rich placer ? Is it that you 
mean ?” 

“ Yes — or rather that Don Estevan knows of the existence 
of the placer ; but not where it is, or the road that leads to 
it. This is only known to Cuchillo, whose death would 
therefore be an irreparable loss to all of us.” 

“ Bah !” replied the ex-herdsman, with a shake of the 
head ; “ Cuchillo’s face is one that could never deceive an 
experienced eye. For my part I hope I am deceived in him, 
though I doubt it.” 

“ Oh, Sehor Benito, you always look upon the dark side of 
things.” 

“Well, perhaps so — and on this very night I may espe- 
cially appear a bird of ill omen, for I cannot hell) feeling the 
presentiment that there is danger near us. See ! look yon- 
der ! The animals have left off eating — both mules and 
horses. Observe how they stand listening, as if they heard 
something. Well, what is to come will come; and I have 
not much to lose — even my life is not worth much.” 

And with this consolatory speech the old shepherd wrapped 
himself up in his cloak and lay down to sleep. 

Not so Baraja. The words of his comrade had produced 
their effect, and he was unable to compose himself to rest. 
His imagination depicted to him a thousand phantoms, and 
every moment he fancied he could hear the yells of the sava- 
ges, as they rushed forward to attack the camp. Not that 
the ex-haciendado was altogether a coward ; but there was 
reason for his fears ; and the darkness of the night, as well 
as the strange behaviour of the animals, was sufficient cause 
to render even a brave man apprehensive of danger. 

After the long day’s march, all the adventurers were 
as l ee p —stretched here and there upon the ground. The 


260 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


sentinels alone were awake, and watching — now and then 
raising along the lines their monotonous cry of “ Sefitinela 
alerte /” It was the only sound that for a long time inter- 
rupted the silence of the night. 

After remaining awake for a considerable time, Baraja 
began to feel confidence,- and perhaps would have gone to 
sleep, like the others, when all at once he heard several shots, 
similar to those that had been heard during the day, and 
which appeared to proceed from the same direction. 

“They are still firing over there,” said he, nudging the old 
herdsman so as to awake him. 

“No matter,” grumbled Benito ; “let them fire away. If 
it be not Cucliillo or Gayferos, we needn’t care. So, friend 
Baraja, I wish you good night — go to sleep yourself. In the 
desert, time for sleep is precious, although at any minute you 
may be sent to sleep in eternity — Good night !” 

After this terrifying speech, the ex-herdsman drew his 
cloak over his eyes to keep out the rays of the moon, when 
a noise made by the mules caused him to raise his head 
again. “ Ah !” said he, “ the red devils are not far off.” 

The neigh of a horse was now heard from a distance, 
accompanied by a cry of alarm, and the next moment a man 
was seen riding up at full gallop. 

“ It is Cuchillo,” cried the servant ; then, in a low voice, 
to Baraja, “Let the travellers take care when the will-o’-the 
wisp dances on the plain !” 


THE ALARM. 


261 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE ALARM. 

That evented, as usual Don Estevan watched in his tent, 
while his people reposed. By the light of a smoky candle, 
the Spaniard, in spite of the modest appearance of his lodging 
and of his dust-covered clothes, seemed to have lost nothing 
of the dignity of his appearance or of his grand air. His 
complexion, more sun-burnt than usual, gave his countenance 
a still more energetic character. He appeared pensive, but 
his thoughts were no longer so uneasy as they had been ; on 
the eve, after so many dangers, of realizing his vast designs, 
Don Estevan had, for the time at least, shaken off gloomy 
thoughts, and fixed his mind on the hope of a success which 
he believed infallible. 

He had raised the canvass, which served as a door, in order 
to glance upon the men who reposed around, and seemed to 
wish to compare his means of action with the aim he was 
pursuing. 

“Nearly twenty years ago,” thought he, “I commanded a 
party of sailors, nearly equal in number, and as determined 
as these. I was then only an obscure younger son, and they 
aided me to recover my inheritance — yes, it was mine. But 
I was then in the flower of my age, and had an aim in the 
future to pursue. I have attained this aim — I have even sur- 
passed it ; and now that I have nothing more to desire, I find 
myself, in my mature age, scouring the desert as 1 formerly 
scoured the sea. Why ?” 


262 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


The conscience *of Mediana cried to him, that it was in 
order to forget one day of his life, hut at that moment he 
wished to remain deaf to its voice. The moon shone uj-on 
the firearms piled in the centre of the camp, and cast its 
light upon sixty men inured to peril and fatigue, and who 
laughed at heat and thirst. In the distance a luminous 
vapour rested upon the mountains beyond which lay the 
Golden Valley. 

“ Why ?” repeated Don Estevan ; “ because there remains 
to me still an immense treasure and a vast kingdom to con- 
quer.” 

The eyes of Mediana sparkled with pride; then this 
expression passed away, and he fixed on the horizon a melan- 
choly look. 

“ And yet,” continued he, “ what of this treasure shall I 
keep for myself? Nothing. The crown will be placed on 
the head of another, and I shall not even have a son or any 
descendant bearing the name of Mediana, who one day might 
bow before my portrait and say, 1 This man could be tempted 
neither by gold nor by a throne.’ But they will say it of me 
now, and is not that enough ?” 

At this moment Pedro Diaz raised the door of the tent, 
and said, “You sent for me, Senor Don Estevan?” 

“ I wish to speak to you of important things, which I could 
not do yesterday, and ought to do to-day; I have some ques- 
tions to ask ; and although this is the hour for repose, they 
must not be adjourned. If I do not deceive myself, Diaz, 
you are one of those men who repose only when they have 
nothing better to do. The ambitious are such,” added Don 
Estevan, with a smile. 

“ I am not ambitious, Senor,” replied the adventurer quietly, 

“You are so, without knowing it, Diaz; and I will prove 
it to you, presently. But first tell me what you think of this 
distant firing ?” 


THE ALARM. 


263 


“ Men meet on the sea whose surface is incomparably more 
extensive than that of this desert ; it is not astonishing that 
they should meet here. Travellers and Indians have encoun- 
tered one another, and are fighting.” 

“ That is what I think. One more question and then we 
will return to the first subject which I have at heart. Has 
Cuchillo returned ?” 

M Ho, Senor, and I much fear that we have lost the guide 
who has conducted us till now.” 

“ And to what do you attribute this strange absence ?” 
asked Don Estevan, with an anxious look. 

“Probably he has gone too far upon the track of the 
Apaches, and has been surprised by them. In that 
case his absence may prove eternal, in spite of the fires 
winch we have lighted for two days to show him our 
encampment.” 

“ Is that really your idea ?” said the chief, looking fixedly 
at Diaz. 

“It is; although, to say the truth, Cuchillo is one of 
those people wiiom one is rarely wrong in accusing of per- 
fidy ; but I do not see wiiat object he could have in betray- 
ing us.” 

Don Estevan pointed to the fog which hid the tops of the 
mountains in the horizon. “The neighbourhood of those 
mountains,” said he, “ might explain the absence of Cuchillo.” 
Then, wdth a changed tone, “ Are our men still of the same 
mind.” 

“ Yes, Senor, and have more confidence than ever, in the 
chief who watches while they sleep, and fights like the hum. 
blest of them.” 

“ I have battled in many parts of the world,” said Don 
Estevan, sensible to praise, the sincerity of which he believed 
in, “ and I have rarely commanded men more determined 
than these. Would they were five hundred instead of sixty. 


264 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


for then on the return of this expedition my projects would 
be easy of accomplishment.” 

“I am ignorant what these projects are, of which you now 
speak to me for the first time,” said Diaz in a reserved tone. 
“ But perhaps Don Estevan thinks me ambitious, only be- 
cause he does me the honour to judge me by himself.” 

“ It is possible, friend Diaz,” replied Don Estevan, smiling ; 
“ the first time that I saw you I thought that your mind was 
of the same stamp as my own. W e are made to understand 
each other, I am sure.” 

The Mexican had all the vivacious intelligence of his 
country ; he had judged Don Estevan, but he waited for 
him to take the initiative. He therefore bowed and kept si- 
lence. 

The Spaniard pushed open the curtains of the tent, 
and, pointing once more to the horizon, “Another day’s 
march,” said he ; “ and we shall encamp at the foot of those 
mountains.” 

“Yes, we are scarcely six leagues distant.” 

“ And do you know what is below that mass of fog which 
crowns their top ?” 

“No,” replied the Mexican. 

Don Estevan cast upon Diaz a look which seemed as if 
meant to penetrate his soul, at the moment of revealing a 
secret until then so carefully kept. The Spaniard wished to 
assure himself that the confidant he was about to choose was 
worthy of his confidence. The honest look of Diaz — on 
whose countenance could be traced none of that cupidity 
which spurred on his companions — reassured him, and he 
went on : 

“Well, it is towards those mountains that we have been 
marching. I shall now tell you why I have directed the ex- 
pedition to this place, as the pilot conducts the ship to some 
point in the ocean known only to himself ; this evening you 


THE ALARM. 


265 


shall read my mind clearly. That mass of fog, which the sun 
itself will not wholly disperse, serves as a veil to treasures 
which have been amassing perhaps from the beginning of the 
world. For centuries the rains have been washing them into 
the plains : the whites only suspected, and the Indians spared 
them ; to-morrow they shall be ours ! This has been my aim. 
W ell, Diaz ! do you not fall on your knees to thank God for 
being one of those called to share in these treasures ?” 

“No,” replied Diaz, simply; “ cupidity would not have 
made me brave the dangers that a wish for revenge has done. 
I would have sought from the work of my arms what others 
seek by easier, if by less sure, methods. But the Indians 
have ravaged my fields, pillaged my flocks, and murdert/ my 
father and brothers. Of my people I alone escaped. Since 
that time I have made fierce war upon the savages, have 
slain many, have sold their sons by dozens, and it is still the 
hope of vengeance which brings me here — neither ambition 
nor cupidity. But I love my country and all that I should 
care for riches would be to enable me to make a last effort 
against that distant congress which tyrannizes over but can- 
not protect us.” 

“ Good ! friend Diaz !” cried the Spaniard, holding out hi£ 
hand to the adventurer, and then added with vehemence : 

“ Strong by the aid of this gold, I will confide my plans 
to those sixty men now buried in sleep. On our return our 
numbers will swell like the stream which widens as it 
flows, and we shall shake off the yoke of a capital — 
which is capable only of constantly changing its men and its 
principles.” 

Don Estevan had already noticed, in former conversations 
with Diaz, his great hatred of the federal system, but wish- 
ing to be sure whether or not it was founded on personal mo- 
tives, he continued — 

“ The congress is far from you, and the government of 
12 


266 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Mexico has neither troops nor money to protect provinces so 
distant as yours. Is that the only reproach yor have to make 
of it !” 

“ The only reproach! No. Independence is for us hut an 
empty name, and we have to hear only the burden of a dis- 
tant government.” 

Don Estevan now unveiled to Diaz the project which he 
had discussed with the Senator. Then passing from princi- 
ples to persons, he named the King, Don Carlos, as him whom 
they were to introduce. 

u A king ! King Charles ! so be it,” replied Diaz, “ but we 
shall have many obstacles to overcome.” 

“ Less than you imagine, Diaz. Gold will level all obsta- 
cles, and to-morrow we shall gather it by handfuls. We will 
pave the way to the new kingdom with gold, and pay largely 
the founders and guardians of a throne which will want only 
its king.” 

Thus, as he had promised his master, the bold partizan 
laid, even in the desert, the foundation of a future dynasty. 
What the influence of the Senator was to effect in the con- 
gress, that of a man renowned by his exploits was to obtain 
from his equals. 

After this conversation Diaz retired to seek repose from his 
fatigues, and Don Estevan accompanied him out of the tent. 
The latter threw around him a glance of tranquil pride ; all 
obstacles were surmounted, the incessant vigilance of the 
Indians had been eluded, thanks to Diaz, and an immense 
treasure, untouched since the commencement of the world, 
awaited only the hands which were about to be extended tc 
seize it. 

“ See !” said he, “ from those will rise the elements of a 
new kingdom, and our names will belong to history. Now 
I have but one fear — that is, treachery on the part of 
Ouchillo — and you will share this fear with me when you 


THE ATTACK. 


26 * 


hear that it is he who sold me the secret of this golden 
deposit.” 

Diaz was looking earnestly at the plain. 

“ There !” cried he, “ I see a man approaching at full 
gallop : it is Gayferos or Cuchillo !” 

“ Pray God it be the latter,” said Don Estevan, “ I prefer 
having him near rather than far from my sight.” 

“ I think I recoznize his grey horse.” 

In a minute, indeed, they recognized Cuchillo himself. 

“ To arms ! to arms !” cried the guide, “ here are the 
Indians,” and he rushed precipitately through the opening 
made for him by the sentinels. 

“Cuchillo ! the Indians! both names of bad augury,” said 
Don Estevan, as he turned towards his companion. 


CHAPTER XXXVH. 

THE ATTACK. 

At the cry of Cuchillo, which resounded throughout tk i 
camp, the Spaniard and Diaz exchanged looks of intelli. 
gence. 

“ It is strange that the Indians should have found our trail 
again ?” said Don Estevan, interrogatively. 

“Very strange,” replied Diaz, and without saying another 
word, both descended from the eminence, on which they 
stood. 

The camp was already in motion, and confusion reigned 
everywhere ; there was a general movement among these 
intrepid men, who were accustomed to such surprises, and 
who had already, more than once, measured their strength 


268 


THE WOOD-KANGEBS. 


with their implacable enemies. Each armed hastily* but soon 
the tumult subsided, and all stationed themselves at the posts 
assigned to them in case of attack. The first who interro- 
gated Cuchillo were the shepherd and Baraja. 

“ Unless you drew the Indians on to our track, how could 
they have discovered us ?” said the former, with a suspicious 
look. 

“ Certainly it was I,” replied Cuchillo, impudently. “ I 
should have liked to have seen you pursued by a hundred of 
these demons, and whether you would not, like me, have 
galloped to the camp to seek an asylum !” 

“ In such a case,” replied Benito, severely, “ a man to save 
his companions, does not fly, but gives up his life sooner than 
betray them. I should have done so.” 

“ Every one in his own way,” replied Cuchillo, “ but I 
have an account to render only to the chief, and not to his 
servants.” 

“Yes,” murmured the other, “a coward and a traitor can 
but commit baseness and perfidies.” 

“Are the Indians numerous?” asked Baraja. 

“ I had not time to count them ; all that I know is that 
they must be near.” 

And crossing the camp he proceeded to where Don Estevan 
— after having attending to the most important precautions 
— stood at the door of his tent waiting for him. As Cuchillo 
went on without replying to any of the questions with which 
he was assailed, a man advanced with a lighted torch in his 
hand to set fire to the fagots piled in various places, but Don 
Estevan cried — 

“Not yet; it is, perhaps, a false alarm, and until we have 
the certainty of attack we must not light up the camp to 
betray ourselves.” 

At the words “ false alarm,” a smile played over Cuchillo’ a 
features. 


THE ATTACK. 


26.1 


M However,” added Don Estevan, “ let every one saddle 
bis horse and be prepared.” Then he returned to his tent, 
making a sign to Diaz to accompany him. 

“ That means, friend Baraja,” said Benito, “ that if the 
orders are given to light the fires, we are sure to be attacked 
— at night too ; it is terrible.” 

“Who knows that better than I?” said Baraja, “ have you 
ever been present at such a thing?” 

“Never ; that is why I dread it so much.” 

“ W ell, if you had, you would dread it more.” 

Cuchillo, as he drew near the tent, arranged his counte- 
nance and threw back his long hair — as though the wind had 
blown it about in his rapid flight— and then entered the tent 
like a man out of breath and pretending to wipe the perspira- 
tion from his forehead. Oroche had glided in with Diaz. 

Cuchillo’s story was brief: in reconnoitering the places 
towards which the expedition should advance, he had gone 
further than was prudent. 

Diaz interrupted him. 

“ I had taken such precautions to deceive the Indians by 
false tracks, said he, “ I had so misled them, that you must 
have quitted the line of march and gone from right to left.” 

“ Yes,” replied the outlaw, “ I lost my way, deceived by 
the monotony of these endless plains where each hillock 
resembles the other.” 

“ What !” cried Diaz, ironically. “ Had a dweller in cities 
been so deceived it might he believed ; but you — fear must 
have thrown a mist before your eyes !” 

“ Fear !” replied Cuchillo ; “ I know it no more than you 
do.” 

“ Then you must be growing shortsighted, Senor Cu- 
chillo.” 

“However it happened, I lost myself; and, but for the 
solumn of smoke, I should not have regained my way so 


*70 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


quickly. I was, however, forced to make a circuit on per* 
ceiving a party of Indians, and only owe the start I have got 
upon them to the speed of my good horse.” 

As he spoke, Don Estevan frowned more than once. 
Oroche left the tent, but immediately reentering, said, — 

“ The Indians are there ! Look at those black shadows on 
the plain over which the moon throws a distant light ; those 
are men sent to reconnoitre our encampment.” 

Over the sand of the desert they could indeed see men on 
horseback advancing, and then disappearing in the shadows 
of the sand heaps. 

Pedro Diaz consulted an instant with Don Estevan, and 
then cried loudly, — 

“ Light the fires everywhere ! we must count our ene- 
mies.” 

A few minutes after, a red light, almost as bright as the 
sun, lit up the whole camp, and showed the adventurers at 
their post, rifles in hand ; while the horses stood saddled and 
bridled, only waiting for their riders in case of a sortie being 
necessary. At the same time Don Estevan’s tent was struck, 
and a calm succeeded to the tumult. 

The desert was silent also ; the moon no longer shone on 
the Indians, who had all disappeared like a bad dream chased 
away by the return of morning. It was a dead silence — the 
precursor of the storm — and there seemed in this silence 
something fearful. It did not announce one of those surprises 
in which an enemy inferior in number disguises his weakness 
under the impetuosity of his attack, and ready to run if he 
is resisted : it was the respite before the combat, granted by 
pitiless enemies, preparing for a deadly struggle. 

“Yes, trust to me,” said old Benito to Baraja, “in a 
quarter of an hour you will hear the howlings of these red 
devils, sound in your ears like the trumpets of the last judg- 
ment !” 


THE ATTACK. 


271 


“ Carramba ! you are the most skilled man about tigers 
and Indians that I ever met with, but you might be more 
consoling. I wish to God I could doubt the truth of your 
words 1” 

“There are some things always easy to foresee,” contin- 
ued the old man. “One may predict to the traveller who 
goes to sleep in the bed of a torrent that he will be car- 
ried away by the waters ; and that Indians who have dis- 
covered their enemies will draw off a little, and count their 
men before making an attack. One may also predict that 
several of them will utter their death-cry, as many among 
us will have to say their last prayer ; but who those will be 
no one can say. Do you know any prayers for the dying, 
Senor Baraja?” 

“No,” replied the latter, dolefully. 

“ I am sorry for that ; those are little services that friends 
may render each other, and if I had the grief, as is very pos- 
sible, of seeing you first scalped and then murdered — ” 

Further conversation was interrupted by outcries which 
seemed drawing near to the camp. In spite of the terrifying 
words of the old shepherd, his sang froid in the greatest 
perils and his resolution full of a consoling fatalism, sustained 
the more wavering courage of Baraja. 

As he shuddered at the horrible sounds — which must be 
heard to be appreciated — he cast upon Benito a glance in 
order to catch from him a. little of his philosophy. For the 
first time a cloud of sadness appeared on the ex-herdsman’s 
brow, and his eyes looked as though tears stood in them. 
Baraja was struck by the change, and laid his head upon the 
old man’s arm. Benito raised his head. 

“I understand you,” said he, “but man has his moments 
of weakness. I am like him who is called from his hearth by 
the sound of the trumpet at a time he least thought to quit 
it. Amidst those howls I hear from above the sound of the 
last trumpet calling me, and although I am old, it grieves 


272 


THE WOOD-KANGEES. 


me to go. I leave neither wife nor children to regret, noi 
those who would weep for me ; but there is. an old companion 
of my solitary life from whom I cannot separate without 
grief. It is at least a consolation for the Indian warrior to 
know that his war-horse will share his tomb, and to believe 
that he shall find him again in the land of spirits. How many 
times have we scoured the woods and the plains together! 
How often have we borne together heat, hunger, and thirst ! 
This old and faithful friend is my horse, as you may have 
guessed. I give him to you, friend Baraja. Treat him 
kindly — love him as I love him, and he will love you as he 
loves me. His companion was killed by a tiger, and he will 
now be left alone.” 

So saying, the old man pointed to a noble courser, champ- 
ing his bit proudly, among the other horses. He then went 
towards him, caressed him, and, this moment of weakness 
over, his countenance recovered its habitual serenity. As he 
recovered his calmness, he renewed his predictions, careless 
of the terror he excited in others. 

“ Listen !” said he to Baraja ; “ to recompense you for the 
care you will take of my old friend, I shall teach you, while 
there is still time, a verse of the psalm for the dying, that 
may serve you as ” 

“Well!” said Baraja, as he did not go on, “what more 
terrifying things have you to say ?” 

Benito did not reply, but his companion felt him press his 
arm convulsively, and then the sight which struck Baraja 
was more terrible than any answer. The old man’s eyes 
were rolling wildly, and he was vainly trying to staunch the 
blood which flowed from a wound made by an arrow that 
had just pierced his throat. 

He fell, crying: “What is ordained must happen. Ho,” 
added he, repulsing the assistance that Baraja was en- 
deavoring to render him, “ my hour is come — remember— 


THE ATTACK. 


273 


my old friend ” and the flowing blood cut short his 

speech. 

At that moment the best mounted among the Indians 
showed themselves in the moonlight. Travellers who have 
met only with civilized Indians can with difficulty form any 
idea of the savage tribes. Nothing less resembled those 
degenerate Indians than these unconquered sons of the 
desert ; who — like the birds of prey, wheeling in the air 
before pouncing on their victims — rode howling around the 
camp. Their figures, hideously marked with paint, were 
visible from time to time ; their long hair streaming in the 
wind, their cloaks of skins floating in their rapid course, and 
their piercing cries of defiance and bravado, giving them 
the appearance of demons, to whom they have justly been 
compared. 

There were few among the Mexicans who had not some 
revenge to take on these indefatigable spoilers, but none of 
them were animated by such deadly hatred as Pedro Diaz. 
The sight of his enemies produced on him the effect that 
scarlet does on a bull, and he could scarcely refrain from 
indulging in one of those exploits which had rendered his 
name formidable to their tribes. But it was necessary to set 
an example of discipline, and he curbed his impatience. 
Besides, the moment of attack could not be far off, and the 
superior position of the gold-seekers compensated for the 
inequality of their numbers. 

After having assigned to each his post behind the intrench- 
ments, Don Estevan placed on the rising ground, where his 
tent had stood, those of his men whose rifles carried farthest, 
or whose sight was the best, and the fires gave light enough 
for their aim. As for himself, his post was everywhere. 

The piercing eyes of the Indians, and the reports of those 
who had preceded them had doubtless instructed them as to 
the position of the whites. For a moment an indecision 

12 * 


274 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


seemel to reign among them, but the truce did not last long, 
After a short interval of silence, a hundred voices at once 
shrieked out the war-cry; the earth trembled under an 
avalanche of galloping horses ; and amidst a shower of balls, 
stones, and arrows, the camp was surrounded on three sides 
by a disorderly multitude. But a well-sustained fire pro- 
ceeded from the top of the hill. 

Under this murderous discharge riderless horses were seen 
galloping over the plain, and riders disengaging themselves 
from their wounded steeds. Before long, however, the com- 
bat became one of hand to hand ; the Mexicans behind their 
carts, the Indians trying to scale them. 

Oroche, Baraja,, and Pedro Diaz pressed one against the 
other, sometimes retiring to avoid the long lances of their 
enemies — sometimes advancing and striking in their turn — 
encouraging each other, and never pausing but to glance at 
their chief. As already stated, the report had vaguely spread 
that he knew the secret of immense riches, and cupidity sup- 
plied to Oroche and Baraja the place of enthusiasm. 

“ Carramba !” cried Baraja, “a man possessing such a 
secret should be invulnerable.” 

“ Immortal !” said Oroche, “ or only die after ” 

A blow from a hatchet on his head cut short his words. 
He fell to the ground, and but for the solidity of his hat, and 
the thickness of his hair, all had been over with him. His 
adversary, carried away by the violence of his own blow, 
placed his hand for support on the shafts of the cart which 
separated them. Diaz immediately seized the Indian’s arm, 
and leaning on the nave of the wheel, dragged him towards 
him with such force that he fell off his horse into the camp ; 
and, almost before he touched the ground, the Mexican’s 
sword severed his head from his body. 

Useless now on their elevated position — for the mUee was 
so thick that their shots might have been as fatal to friends 


THE ATTACK. 


275 

as foes — the sharpshooters had come down and mingled with 
the other combatants. 

In the corner of the intrenchments where they stood, Don 
Estevan and Cuchillo had to sustain an attack not less furious. 
The first, while he defended himself, yet cast an eye over the 
whole of the intrenchments ; but it was with the greatest 
difficulty that amidst the tumult he could make heard his 
orders and advice. More than once his double-barrelled rifle 
of English make — and which he loaded and discharged with 
wonderful rapidity — stayed the knife or axe which was 
menacing one of his men — a feat which was greeted each 
time with loud hurrahs. He was, in a word, what the 
adventurers had seen him from the beginning of this danger- 
ous campaign, the chief who thought of all, and the chief 
who feared nothing. 

Accompanied by his horse, which followed his movements 
with the intelligence of a spaniel, Cuchillo stood behind the 
chief— as much out of the way as possible — with more pru- 
dence than bravery. He seemed to be following with an 
anxious eye the chances of attack and defence : when all at 
once he tottered as though struck by a mortal wound, and 
fell heavily behind the carts. This incident passed almost 
unperceived amidst the confusion — every one being in so 
much danger as to be able to think only of himself. 

“ There is a coward the less,” said Don Estevan, coldly, 
while Cuchillo’s horse drew near him with a terrified air. 

For some minutes Cuchillo remained motionless ; then, 
little by little, he raised his head and cast around him a 
glance which seemed undimmed by the approach of death 
A few minutes after, he rose on his feet, like a man to whom 
death lends some strength at the last, and apparently mor. 
tally hurt, his hand on his breast, as though endeavouring to 
retain the spark of life ready to escape, tottered backwards, 
and then fell again some way off. His horse followed him 


276 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


once more ; and then, if every one had not been too much 
occupied, they might have seen the outlaw rolling over and 
over towards an open place in the intrenchments. He then 
stopped again ; and finally glided under the cart wheels out 
of the camp. 

There he rose upon his legs as firm as ever, while a smile 
of joy played over his lips. The darkness and the tumult 
favoured his manoeuvre. He silently unfastened the iron 
chains of two carts, and opened a passage. He whistled and 
his horse glided after him ; in a second he was in the saddle, 
almost without touching the stirrup ; when after a moment’s 
thought, he spurred on the animal, who set off like the wind, 
and horse and rider soon disappeared in the darkness ! 

On both sides of the intrenchment corpses covered the 
ground; half burnt-out piles of wood cast their red light 
upon the bloody scenes of this struggle ; the shouts of ene- 
mies, the repeated discharge of firearms, and the whistling 
of bullets followed each other uninterruptedly. The hideous 
figures of the Indians looked more hideous still in the strange 
light. 

One point in the intrenchment had given way before the 
incessant attacks ; and here, dead or wounded, its defenders 
had yielded to enemies who seemed to swarm from the ground. 
At this point there was an instant of horrible confusion. A 
pele-mele of bodies interlaced, over which appeared the 
plumes of the Indian warriors. Soon, however, the line of 
the adventurers, broken for an instant, reformed before a 
group of Indians who were rushing like wild beasts into the 
middle of the camp. 

Oroche and Baraja left the point which they were still 
defending, and found themselves face to face with their ene- 
mies, this time with nothing to separate them. Amidst the 
group of Indians, whose lances and hatchets fell indiscrimi- 
na / ely upon horses, mules and men, the chief was reoogniza* 


THE ATTACK. 


271 


Die by his yast height, the painting of his face and his great 
strength. 

It was the second time that he had faced the whites since 
the commencement of the campaign, and his name was 
known to them. 

“ Here, Diaz,” cried Baraja, “ here is the Spotted Cat !” 

At the name of Diaz, which had already reached him, tho 
Indian chief looked round for him who bore it, with eyes 
which seemed to dart flames, and raised his lance to strike 
Diaz, when «, blow from Oroche’s knife wounded his horse. 
The Indian thrown to the ground, let fall his lance. Diaz 
seized it, and while the chief raised himself on one knee and 
endeavoured to draw his sword, the lance which he had 
dropped, pierced his naked breast, and came out between his 
shoulders. Although mortally wounded, the Indian uttered 
np cry, his eyes never lost their haughty menace, and his 
face expressed only rage. 

w The Spotted Cat dies not so easily,” said he, and with a 
vigorous hand he seized the wood of the lance still held by 
Diaz. A fierce struggle ensued, but at every effort of the 
Indian to draw Diaz towards him, and envelope him in a last 
deadly clasp, the murdering lance pierced farther and 
farther. Soon his strength failed, and violently torn from 
his body the bloody weapon remained in the hands of Diaz. 
The Indian fell back, gave one glance of defiance, and then 
lay motionless upon the earth. 

Their chief fallen, the others soon shared the same fate, 
while their companions vainly tried to force the line a second 
time. Victims of their temerity, the Indians, without ask- 
ing for a mercy which they never showed, fell like their 
chief facing the enemy, and surrounded by the corpses of 
those who had preceded them in their journey to the land 
of spirits. 

Of all the savages in the camp but one remained. He 


278 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


looked round him for a minute with eves fierce as those of 
the hunted tiger ; then, instead of seeking to hide his pres* 
ence, he uttered anew his war cry, but it was confounded 
with those from without — and profiting by a moment of 
confusion, during which the adventurers, attacked from 
without, left the breach almost clear — he caused his horse 
to leap over, and found himself once more among his 
own people. 

Pedro Diaz alone saw him, and regretted his prey, but the 
implacable enemy of the Indians never indulged in sterile 
regrets. He was mounted on the war horse presented to 
him by Don Augustin Pena. From his left hand hung by 
the sword knot a long Toledo rapier, with the Spanish 
device : 

Do not draw me without cause, 

Or sheathe me without honour. 

The blade was red with blood. Diaz shaded his eyes with 
his right hand, and tried to pierce the distant obscurity. 
All at once he perceived at the end of the luminous zone 
projected Hby the fires, the man he was seeking. He was 
making furious evolutions on his horse, and uttering shouts 
of defiance. Diaz remembered the speech of the haciendado 
about the horse he had given him — “ The Indian whom you 
pursue must be mounted on the wings of the wind if you do 
not catch him,” and he resolved to make the attempt. The 
noble animal, excited by the spur, leaped over the entrench- 
ments overthrown by the Indians, and the two were soon 
side by side. The Indian brandished his hatchet, Diaz his 
sword, and for some seconds there was a trial of agility, cour 
age, and address. Each sustained his country’s reputation, 
but the Indian’s hatchet broke to pieces the sword of the 
Mexican. The two combatants then seized one another 
round the body and tried to drag each other from theii 


THE ATTACK. 


279 


horses, but like centaurs, each seemed to fc rm a part of the 
animal he bestrode. 

At last Diaz disengaged himself from his adversary’s clasp, 
and backed his horse, still facing the Indian. Then, when he 
was a little way off, he caused his horse to rear so furiously 
that the animal seemed for a moment to be raised over the 
Indian. At the same moment Diaz lifted his right leg, and 
with a blow from the large heavy iron-bound stirrup, broke 
his adversary’s skull, whom his horse carried away dead 
from the spot. 

This last magnificent exploit seemed to end the battle ; 
some arrows flew harmlessly around Diaz, who was wel- 
comed back with shouts of triumph by his companions. 

“Poor Benito!” cried Baraja ; “may God rest his soul, 
I regret even his terrific histories.” 

“ What is still more to be regretted,” interrupted Oroche, 
“ is the death of the illustrious Cuchillo, the guide of the 
expedition.” 

“Your ideas are still confused from the blow you received 
on your head,” said Diaz, as he tried the flexibility of a new 
sword. “ But for the illustrious Cuchillo, as you call him, 
we should not have lost to-night at least twenty brave com- 
rades. Cuchillo unluckily died a day too late, and I cannot 
say 1 God rest his soul.’ ” 

Meanwhile the Indians were deliberating. The last exploit 
of Diaz, the death that so many of their party had met with 
in the camp, and those killed by the firing, had thinned their 
ranks. 

The Indian never persists in a hopeless struggle : a singu- 
lar mixture of prudence and contempt of life characterizes 
this singular race, and prudence counselled them to retreat ; 
they did so precipitately as they had attacked. 

But the tactics of the white men were different ; they woro 
anxious to profit by a victory the fame of which would peno 


280 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


trate to the furthest end of the desert, and render theif 
future more secure. Therefore an order to pursue the fugi- 
tives given by Don Estevan was received with acclamations. 
Twenty cavaliers instantly rushed forward, Pedro Diaa 
among the foremost. Sword in one hand, and lasso and bridle 
in the other, he was soon out of sight. 

Those who remained behind, though nearly all more or 
less wounded, occupied themselves first with reconstructing 
the entrenchment in case of any new attack; then, over- 
whelmed with fatigue, hunger, and thirst, after clearing the 
camp of the dead bodies which encumbered it, they lay down 
on the earth, still wet with blood, to seek for repose. 


CHAPTER XXXVIH. 

AFTER THE FIGHT. 

In the calm which succeeded to the noise of the combat, a 
single man rose slowly up, and by the light of a torch which 
he held, examined all the corpses lying at his feet, as if seek- 
ing to identify the livid or bloody faces of the dead. Some- 
times the light fell on the strange paint of an Indian face, 
and the pale one of a white man, lying side by side iu an 
eternal sleep ; occasionally a deep groan proceeded from 
some one who was wounded, but the seeker did not appear 
to find what he sought. 

All at once, amidst the silence, a weak voice attracted hia 
attention, and he tried in the half light to discover whence 
the sound proceeded. The feeble movement of a hand 
guided him, and he approached the dying man — in whom he 
immediately recognized Benito. 


AFTER THE FIGHT. 


281 


“ Ah ! it is you, my poor Benito ?” said he, with a look ol 
profound pity. 

“Yes,” replied the old shepherd, “it is old Benito, dying 
in the desert where he has nearly always lived. As for me — 
I know not who you are ; my eyes are dim. Is Baraja liv- 
ing?” 

“ I trust so ; he is now pursuing the Indians, and will 
eturn in time, I hope, to bid you a last adieu.” 

“ I doubt it,” replied Benito ; “ I wished to teach him a 
verse of the hymn for the dying. I can no longer remember 
it now. Do you not know something ?” 

“Not a word.” 

“Ah! I must do without it,” said Benito, whose accus- 
tomed stoicism did not forsake him even at that moment. 
Then, in a still more feeble voice, he added, “I have be- 
queathed to Baraja an old companion — an old friend ; who 
ever you may be, recommend him to observe my last request, 
to love him as I did.” 

“ A brother doubtless.” 

“ Better than that ; my horse.” 

“ I shall remind him — do not fear.” 

“ Thank you,” said the old man. “ As for myself, I have 
finished my travels. The Indians did not kill me when they 
took me prisoner in my youth — now they have killed me in 
my old age without taking me prisoner. That — ” he stopped, 
and then added some words in so low a tone that they did 
not reach the ear of the listener. He spoke no more ; those 
were his last words, for death had abruptly ended his 
speech. 

“ He was a brave man — peace be with him !” said the 
speaker, who then continued his search, until at last, fatigued 
by its uselessness, he returned with an anxious look to his 
place, and after he had gone the silence of death seemed to 
pervade the camp. 


282 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Before long, however, a confused noise of voices an 3 
horses’ feet indicated the return of the adventurers who had 
started in pursuit of the Indians, and by the doubtful light of 
the half extinct fires, they entered the camp. 

The same man who had been recently inspecting the dead, 
went out to meet them. While some of them were dismount- 
ing to open a passage through the barricades, Pedro Diaz 
advanced towards him, a stream of blood flowing from a 
wound in his forehead. 

“ Senor Don Estevan,” said he, “ we have not been lucky 
in our pursuit. We have but wounded one or two of the 
Indians, and have lost one of our own men. However I bring 
you a prisoner ; do you wish to interrogate him ?” 

So saying, Diaz detached his lasso from the saddle-bow, and 
pointed to a mass held in its noose. It was an Indian, who, 
pitilessly dragged along over the sand and stones, had left 
behind at every step pieces of flesh, and now scarcely retained 
any vestige of humanity. 

“He was alive when I took him, however,” cried Diaz; 
“but it is just like these dogs of Indians, he must have died 
in order not to tell anything.” 

Without replying to this ferocious jest, Don Estevan signed 
to Diaz to accompany him to a place where they might 
converse without being overheard. When the new comers 
had lain down and silence reigned anew, Don Estevan 
began : 

“Diaz,” said he, “ we are close on the end of our expedi- 
tion : to-morrow, as I told you, we shall encamp at the foot 
of those mountains ; but in order that success may crown our 
efforts, treason must not throw obstacles in our way. It is 
on this subject that I wish to consult you to-night. You have 
known Cuchillo long, but not so long as I have ; and cer- 
tainly, not as thoroughly. From his earliest youth he has 
always betrayed those to whom he appeared most devoted. 


AFTER THE FIGHT. 


283 


I know not which of all the vices with which he is endowed 
has the ascendant ; but in a word, the sinister look of his 
face is but a feeble reflection of the blackness of his soul. It 
was he who sold to me the secret of the rich and mysterious 
placer to which I am leading you — and of this secret he had 
made himself the sole master by murdering the friend who 
had freely confided it to him, and who thought to find him a 
faithful companion in his dangers. 

“ I have ever, therefore, kept a watchful eye over him. 
His disappearance for the last two days alarmed me, but it 
might have been the result of an accident common in these 
deserts. The attack, however, from which we have so nar- 
nowly escaped has confirmed my suspicions. He has 
advanced under our protection, until we have reached the 
place where he would be able to seize a part of these 
immense treasures. He had need of auxiliaries in order to 
murder our sixty men, and the Indians who have attacked us 
were but his instruments.” 

“ Indeed,” replied Diaz, “ his report seemed to me suspi- 
cious. But the simplest method will be to hold a court-mar- 
shal, interrogate him, and if* he be convicted of treason, let 
us shoot him at once.” 

“ At the commencement of the attack, I assigned him a 
post near me, in order to watch him more easily. I saw him 
totter and then fall apparently mortally wounded, and I was 
glad to be rid of a traitor and a coward. But I have just 
turned over and examined all the dead, and Cuchillo is not 
amongst them. It is therefore urgent that without loss of 
time we should follow him; he cannot be far off. You are 
accustomed to this sort of expedition; we must, without 
delay, set off in pursuit of him, and execute prompt justice 
on a villain whose life must pay for his treachery.” 

Diaz appeared to reflect for a moment, and then said, “ To 
trace him can neither be tedious nor difficult. Cuchillo must 


284 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


have gone towards the Golden Valley — therefore in that 
direction we must seek him.” 

“ Go rest for an hour, for you must be worn out,” said the 
chief. “ Ah ! Diaz, if all these men were like you, how easy 
our path would be — gold in one hand, and the sword in the 
other.” 

“ I have only done my duty,” said Diaz, simply. 

“ Say to our men that it is necessary for us to reconnoitre 
the environs of the camp, and tell the sentinels to keep strict 
watch until our return, and then we shall proceed towards 
the valley.” 

“ Cuchillo must certainly be there, and we shall catch him 
either going or returning.” 

“ We shall find him in the valley,” said Don Estevan. 
“ When you have seen it, you will find it a place that a man 
like Cuchillo could not make up his mind to leave.” 

Diaz departed to execute his orders, and Don Estevan 
caused his tent to be pitched again, that even in his absence 
his starry banner might float over the camp as a sign of his 
protective authority. This done, he threw himself on his 
couch, and slept the sleep of a soldier after a day of fighting 
and fatigue. 

Little more than an hour after, Diaz stood before him. 
“ Senor Don Estevan,” said he, “ all is prepared for start- 
ing.*-’ 

The chief rose and found his horse awaiting him, ready 
saddled. 

“Diaz,” said he, “ask the sentinels if Gayferos has 
returned.” 

Diaz questioned one of the men, who replied, “ The poor 
fellow will probably never return. The Indians must have 
surprised and killed him before attacking us, and that pro- 
bably was the cause of the firing that we heard in the after 

noon. 


THE ISLET. 


285 


“I fear it is but too certain that he has been murdered,” 
replied Diaz ; “ but as for the firing that we heard, I believe 
that had a different origin.” 

Don Estevan now mounted his horse, and the two set off’ 
in the direction of the mountains. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE ISLET. 

While the Indians, united in council, were deliberating on 
the means of attacking the camp of the gold-seekers, let us 
see how the three men on the island were occupied. 

It was about four o’clock, and the fog was beginning to 
rise slowly from the water. Willows and aspens grew on 
the shores of the river Gila, within rifle-range of the little 
island, and so near the water that their roots were in the 
river. The spaces between the trees were filled up by vigo- 
rous osier and other shoots ; but just in front of the island 
was a large open space. This had been made by the troops 
of wild horses and buffaloes, that came down to drink at the 
river ; and through this opening any one on the island cfidd 
see clearly over the plain. 

The little island had been formed originally by trees that 
had taken root in the bed of the river; other trees, some 
green and others without branches or foliage, had rested 
against these, and their roots had become interlaced. Since 
then, many summers and winters must have passed ; and 
grasses and sedges, detached from the banks by the water, 
had filled up the interstices. Then the dust, brought there 
by the wind, had covered these with a crust of earth, and 


286 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


formed a kind of solid ground for the floating island. Platts 
had grown along the banks; the trunks of the willows had 
sent forth vigorous shoots, and, with the reeds, had sur- 
rounded the island with a fringe of verdure. The island 
was only a few feet in diameter ; but a man lying, or even 
kneeling upon it, was completely hidden by the willow- 
shoots. 

The sun was going down, and a little shade was thrown by 
the leaves and trees ; in this shade was stretched the form 
of Fabian asleep. Bois-Rose seemed to be watching over 
his sleep, hastily taken after the fatigues of a long march, 
while Pepe refreshed himself by plunging in the water. 
While Fabian slumbers, we shall raise the veil by which the 
young Count hid from the eyes of his two friends his most 
secret and dearest thoughts. 

After his fall into the torrent, Pepe had forgotten that 
the enemy on whom he had sworn vengeance was escaping, 
and both he and Bois-Rose had thought only of rendering 
prompt assistance to Fabian. On returning to consciousness, 
Fabian’s first thought was to resume his interrupted pursuit. 
The acquisition of the Golden Valley, and even the remem- 
brance of Dona Rosarita, were forgotten by the ardent wish 
of revenging his mother. 

Pepe, on his side, was not the man to draw back from his 
vow ; and as for Bois-Rose, his wdiole affections were cen- 
tred in his two companions, and he would have followed 
them to the end of the world. Their first failure, far from 
discouraging them, did but excite their ardour ; in hatred 
as in love, obstacles are always a powerful stimulant to vigor- 
ous minds. The pursuit had gradually presented a double 
object to Fabian ; it brought him near to the Golden Valley 
in the desert ; and he nourished a vague hope that the place 
pointed out to him was not the same as that which the expe 
dition led by Antonio de Mediana proposed to conquer. 


THE ISLET. 


2J.' 

Fabian said to himself, tnat the daughter of Don Augustin 
doubtless only yielded obeidence to the ambitious views of 
her father, and that it might yet be easy for him, noble and 
rich, to win the day against such a rival as Tragaduros. 

Still, discouragement often seized upon Fabian ; he loved 
the daughter of the haciendado with his whole soul ; and the 
thought of owing her love only to the treasures that he 
might possess, distressed him. Moreover, he felt that the 
ardent and jealous affection of the Canadian, had founded on 
him the sole aim of his life, and that, like the eagle who car- 
ries away his young one and places it in an eyrie, inaccessible 
to the hand of man, Bois-Rose, who had forever quitted civil- 
ized life, wished to make of him his inseparable companion 
in the desert ; and that, to disappoint the old man would be 
to throw a shadow over his whole future life. As yet, no 
confidence as to their future had been exchanged between 
them ; but in face of a love that he believed hopeless, and 
of the ardent, though secret wishes of the man who now 
acted as a father to him, and who would half break his heart 
at a separation, Fabian had generously and silently sacrificed 
his tastes and hopes that would not die. He who had but to 
hold out his hand to seize the things that the whole world 
desires — riches, titles, and honours — was like one whose life 
tortured by an unhappy love, disclaiming the future, seeks 
within the cloister forgetfulness of the past. For Fabian de 
Mediana, the desert was the cloister ; and his mother once 
revenged, it only remained to him to bury himself in it for 
ever. Sad and inefficacious, as a remedy, would be solitude, 
with its mysterious voice, and the ardent contemplations 
that it awakens, for a passion so profoundly awakened in the 
young heart of Fabian. 

One single hope remained to him — that amidst the ever- 
renewed dangers of an adventurous life, the day was not far 
distant when his life would be cut short in some contest with 


268 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


the Indians, or in one of those desperate attempts that he 
meditated against the murderer of his mother. He had care- 
fully hidden from the Canadian the love that he buried in the 
depths of his heart ; and it was in the silence of the night 
that he dared to look into his own bosom. Then, like the light 
which shines in the horizon above great cities, and which the 
traveller contemplates with joy, a radiant and cherished 
image rose before his eyes in the desert, standing on that 
breach in the wall of the hacienda, where his last souvenirs 
carried him. But during the day, the heroic young man 
tried to hide under an apparent calm, the melancholy that 
devoured him. He smiled, with sad resignation, at those 
plans for the future which the Canadian sometimes enlarged 
on before him — he so happy in having found him, and who 
trembled to lose again his beloved Fabian, whose hand he 
hoped would one day close his eyes. The blind tenderness 
of Bois-Rose did not divine the abyss under the calm surface 
of the lake, but Pepe was rather more clear-sighted. 

“Well,” said Pepe, after a long silence, “the inhabitants 
of Madrid would pay dearly for such a stream of water in 
the Manzanares ; but we have not the less lost a day whicn 
might have brought us nearer to the Golden Valley, and from 
which we cannot now be far distant.” 

“ I allow that,” replied Bois-Rose, “ but the child,” for so 
he called the vigorous young man before them, “ is not so 
accustomed as we are to long marches, and though sixty 
leagues in twelve days is not very much for us, it begins to 
tell on him. But before he has been a year with us, he will 
be able to walk as far as ourselves.” 

Pepe could not help smiling at this answer, but the Cana- 
dian did not perceive it. 

“ See,” said the Spaniard, pointing to Fabian, “ how the 
poor lad has changed in a few days. For my part, at his 
age, I should have preferred the glance of a damsel and the 


THE ISLET. 


<289 


Puerta del Sol at Madrid to all the magnificence of the desert. 
Fatigue alone has not produced this change in him. There 
is some secret which he does not tell us, hut I will penetrate 
it one of these days,” added Pepe, mentally. 

At these words the Canadian turned his head quickly 
towards his beloved child, but a smile of joy from Fabian 
chased away the sudden cloud from the . brow of his adoptive 
father. Fabian indeed smiled; he was dreaming that he was 
on his knees before Rosarita, listening to the sweet voice of 
the young girl, who was recounting her anguish during his 
long absence, and that Rois-Rose stood behind them lean- 
ing on his rifle and blessing them both. Ah ! it was only a 
dream. 

The two hunters looked for a moment silently at the 
sleeper. 

“There lies the last descendant of the Medianas,” said Pepe, 
with a sigh. 

“ What care I for the Medianas and their powerful race ?” 
replied the Canadian. “ I know but Fabian. When I saved 
him, and attached myself to him as though he had been my 
own, did I ask about his ancestors ?” 

“You will wake him if you talk so loud,” said Pepe; 
“ your voice roars like a cataract.” 

“ Why are you always recalling to me things that I do not 
wish to know, or rather wish to forget. I know that some 
years in the desert will accustom him ” 

“You deceive yourself strangely, Bois-Rose, if you ima- 
gine that with the prospects that await him in Spain, and the 
rights that he can claim, this young man will consent to pass 
his whole life in the desert. It is good for us, but not for 
him.” 

“ What ! is not the desert preferable to cities ?” cried 
the old sailor, who vainly tried to conceal from himself that 
Pepe was right. “ I undertake to make him prefer a wander- 

13 


290 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


ing life to a Settled one. Is it not for movement, for fighting, 
and for the powerful emotions of the desert that man is born ?’ 

“ Certainly,” said Pepe, gravely, “ and that is just why the 
towns are deserted and the deserts peopled !” 

“Do not jest, Pep6; I am speaking of serious things. 
While I leave Fabian free to follow his own inclinations, I 
shall make him love this captivating life. Is not this short 
sleep, snatched hastily between two dangers, preferable to 
what one tastes after a day of idle security in the towns. 
You yourself, Pepe — would you wish to return to your own 
country, since you have known the charms of a wandering 
life?” 

“There is between the heir of the Medianas,” replied 
Pep6, “ and the old coastguard man a great difference. To 
him will come a fine property, a great name, and a beautiful 
Gothic castle with towers like the cathedral at Burgos; 
while I should be sent to fish for mackerel at Ceuta — 
which is the most execrable life I know of and which I should 
have but one chance of escaping from — that of waking 
some fine morning, at Tunis or Tetuan, as a slave to our 
neighbours the Moors. I have here, it is true, the daily 
chance of being scalped or burnt alive by the Indians. Still 
the town is worse for me — but for Don Fabian ” 

“ Fabian has always lived in solitude, and will, I trust, pre- 
fer the calm of the desert to the tumult of cities. How 
solemn and silent is all around us ! See here!” and he pointed 
to Fabian, “ how the child sleeps, softly lulled by the murmur 
of the waters, and by the breeze in the Avillows. Look 
there, in the horizon at those fogs just coloured by the sun, 
and that boundless space where man wanders in his primitive 
liberty, like the birds in the air !” 

The Spaniard shook his head doubtfully, although he par- 
took the ideas of the Canadian, and like him felt the charm 
of this wandering life. 


THE ISLET. 


291 


“Look,” continued the old hunter, ‘ at that troop of wild 
horses coming down to drink before going for the night to 
their distant pasturage. See how they approach in all the 
proud beauty that God gives to free animals — ardent eyes, 
open nostrils, and floating manes ! Ah ! I should almost 
like to awake Fabian in order that he might see and admire 
them.” 

“ Let him sleep, Bois-Rose ; perhaps his dreams show him 
more graceful forms than those horses of the desert — forms 
such as abound in our Spanish towns, in balconies or behind 
barred windows.” 

Bois-Rose sighed, as he added — 

“ Yet this is fine sight — how these noble beasts bound with 
joy at their liberty!” 

“ Yes, until they are chased by the Indians, and then they 
bound with terror !” 

“There ! now they are gone like the cloud driven by the 
wind !” continued the Canadian. “Now the scene changes. 
Look at that stag, who shows from time to time his shin- 
ing eyes and black nose through the trees; he snuffs 
the wind, he listens. Ah ! now he also approaches to drink. 
He has heard a noise, he raises his head ; do not the drops 
that fall from his mouth look like liquid gold ? I will wake 
the lad !” 

“ Let him sleep, I tell you ; perhaps his dream now shows 
him black eyes and rosy lips, or some nymph sleeping on the 
banks of a clear stream.” 

The old Canadian sighed again. 

“ Is not the stag the emblem of independence ?V said he. 

“ Yes, until the time when the wolves assemble to pursue 
and tear him to pieces. Perhaps he would have more chance 
of life in our royal parks. Everything to its time, Bois-Rose ; 
old age loves silence, youth noise.” 

Bois-Rose still fought against the truth. It was the drop 


292 


THE WOOD-BANGERS. 


of gall that is found at the bottom of every cup of happi- 
ness ; it is not permitted that there should be perfect 
felicity, for it would then be too painful to die; neither is 
unmixed misery allowed to mortals, or it would be painful to 
live. The Canadian hung his head and looked sad as he 
glanced at the sleeping youth, while Pepe put on his buffalo- 
skin buskins. 

“ Well ! what did I tell you ?” said he, presently ; “ do you 
not hear from afar those howlings — I mean those barkings, 
for the wolves have voices like dogs when they hunt the 
stags. Poor stag ! he is, as you said, the emblem of life in 
the desert.” 

“ Shall I wake Fabian now ?” said Bois-Rose. 

“ Yes, certainly ; for after a love dream a stag hunt is the 
thing most worthy of a nobleman like him, and he will rarely 
see such a one as this.” 

“ He will see nothing like it in the towns,” cried the Cana- 
dian, enchanted ; “ such scenes must make him love the 
desert.” 

And he shook the young man gentiy. 

With head thrown back, to inhale more freely the air 
necessary to his lungs, the stag flew like an arrow along the 
plain. Behind him a hungry pack of wolves, a few white, 
but the greater number black, pursued him at full speed. 
The stag had an immense start, but on the sand heaps, almost 
lost in the horizon, the piercing eye of the hunter might dis- 
tinguish other wolves watching. The noble animal either did 
not see, or else disdained them, for he flew straight towards 
them. As he neared them he halted a moment. Indeed, he 
found himself shut in by a circle of enemies, who constantly 
advanced upon him as he stopped to take breath. All at 
once he turned round, faced the other wolves, and tried one 
last effort to escape. But he could not now clear the solid 
masses that had formed around him, and he fell in the midst 


THE ISLET. 


293 


of them. Some rolled under his feet, and two or three were 
tossed in the air. Then, with a wolf hanging to his flanks, 
bleeding and with tongue protruding, the poor animal 
advanced to the edge of the water, in front of the three spec- 
tators of the strange chase. 

“ It is magnificent !” cried Fabian, clapping his hands, and 
carried away by the hunter’s enthusiasm, which for the time 
silences humanity in the hearts of men. 

“ Is it not fine ?” cried Bois-Rose, doubly pleased, happy 
at Fabian’s pleasure, and at his own. “ And we shall witness 
many such fine sights, my Fabian ! here you see only the 
worst side of these American solitudes, but when you go with 
Pepe and me to the great rivers, and the great lakes of 
the north — ” 

“ The animal has got rid of his enemy,” interrupted 
Fabian, u he is about to spring into the river !” 

The water bubbled after the leap of the stag, then a dozen 
times more as the wolves followed ; then amidst the foam 
were visible the head of the stag, and those of the wolves 
who were pursuing him, howling with hunger, while the more 
timid ones ran along the banks uttering their lamentable 
howls. The stag had neared the island, when the wolves on 
the bank suddenly ceased their cries and fled precipitately 
away. 

“ What is that ?” cried Pepe ; “ what causes this sudden 
panic ?” but no sooner had he spoken than he cried again, 
“ Hide yourselves, in God’s name ! the Indians are in chase 
also.” 

Other and more formidable hunters now appeared in their 
turn upon the arena. A dozen of the wild horses, which 
they had seen before, were now seen galloping wildly over 
the plain, while some Indians, mounted barebacked on their 
horses (having taken their saddles off for greater speed), 
with their knees almost up to their chins, were pursuing the 


294 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


terrified animals. At first there were but three Indians 
visible ; but one by one about twenty appeared, some armed 
with lances, and others brandishing their lassoes of plaited 
leather — all uttering those cries by which they express their 
joy or anger. 

Pepe glanced at the Canadian as though to ask whether he 
had calculated these terrible chances when he wished to 
make Fabian share their adventurous career. For the first 
time, at such a crisis, the intrepid hunter looked deadly pale. 
An eloquent but sad glance was his reply to the Spaniard’s 
mute interrogation. 

“ A too great affection in the heart of the bravest man,” 
thought Pepe, “ makes him tremble for him whom he loves 
more than life ; and adventurers like us should have no ties. 
There is Bois-Rose trembling like a woman !” 

However, they felt almost certain that even the practiced 
eyes of the Indians could not discover them in their retreat ; 
and the three men, after their first alarm had passed over, 
watched coolly the manoeuvres of the Indians. These con- 
tinued to pursue the flying horses ; the numberless obstacles 
so thickly strewn over the plain — the ravines, the hillocks, 
and the sharp-pointed cacti — could not stop them. Without 
slackening the impetuosity of their pace or turning aside 
from any obstacle, these horsemen cleared them with won- 
derful address. Bold rider as he was himself, Fabian looked 
with enthusiasm on the astonishing agility of these wild 
hunters, but the precautions which they were forced to take, 
in order to conceal themselves, made the three friends lose a 
part of this imposing spectacle. 

The vast savannahs, late so deserted, were suddenly 
changed into a scene of tumult and confusion. The stag, 
returning to the bank, continued to fly, with the wolves still 
after him. The wild horses galloped before the Indians — 
whose howlings equalled that of the wolves— and described 


THE ISLET. 


295 


great circles to avoid the lance or the lasso, "while numerous 
echoes repeated these various sounds. 

The sight of Fabian, who followed with an ardent eye all 
these tumultuous evolutions, not appearing to disquiet him- 
self about a danger which he now braved for the first time, 
deprived Bois-Rose of that confidence in himself which had 
brought him safe and sound out of perils apparently greater 
than this. 

“ Ah !” muttered he, “ these are scenes which the inhabi- 
tants of cities can never see, it is only in the desert one can 
meet with them.” 

But his voice trembled in spite of himself; and he stopped, 
for he felt that he would have given a year of his life that 
Fabian had not been present. At this moment a new subject 
of apprehension added to his anguish. 

The scene became more solemn ; for a new actor, whose 
role was to be short though terrible, now appeared upon it. 
It was a man, whom by his dress the three recognized with 
terror as a white man like themselves. The unlucky man, 
suddenly discovered in one of the evolutions of the chase, 
had become in his turn the exclusive object of pursuit. 
Wild horses, wolves, the stag, had all disappeared in the 
distant fog. There remained only the twenty Indians scat- 
tered over a circle, of which the white man occupied the 
centre. For an instant the friends could see him cast around 
him a glance of despair and anguish. But, excepting on the 
river-side, the Indians were everywhere. It was, therefore, 
in this direction that he must fly ; and he turned his horse 
towards the opening opposite to the island. But his single 
moment of indecision had sufficed for the Indians to get near 
him. 

“ The unhappy man is lost, and no help for it,” said Bois 
Rose ; “ he is too late now to cross the river.” 


/ 


29t) THE WOOD-RANGERS. 

u But,” said Fabian, “ if we can save a Christian, shall we 
let him be murdered before our eyes ?” 

Pepe looked at Bois-Rose. 

“ I answer for your life before God,” said the Canadian, 
solemnly, “ if we are discovered we are but three against 
twenty. The life of three men — yours especially, Fabian — is 
more precious than that of one ; we must let this unhappy 
man meet his fate.” 

“ But intrenched as we are ?” persisted Fabian. 

“ Intrenched ! Do you call this frail rampart of osiers and 
reeds an intrenchment ? Do you think these leaves are ball 
proof? And these Indians are but twenty now ; but let one 
of our shots be fired at them, and you will soon see one 
hundred instead of twenty. May God pardon me if I am 
unfeeling, but it is necessary.” 

Fabian said no more ; this last reason seemed conclusive, 
for, like his companions, he was ignorant that the rest of the 
Indians were at the camp of Don Estevan. 

Meanwhile the white fled like a man the speed of whose 
horse is his last resource. Already they could see the terror 
depicted on his face, but just as he was about twenty feet 
from the river, the lasso of an Indian caught him, and the 
unlucky wretch, thrown violently from his saddle, fell upon 
the sand. 


AH INDIAN DIPLOMAT. 


297 


CHAPTER XL. 

AN INDIAN DIPLOMAT. 

After the cries of triumph which announced the sapture 
of the unlucky white man, there was a moment of profound 
silence. The men on the island exchanged looks of conster- 
nation and pity. “ Thank God ! they have not killed him !” 
said Fabian. 

The prisoner indeed arose, although bruised with his fall, 
and one of the Indians’ disengaged him from the lasso. Bois- 
Rose and Pepe shook their heads. 

“ So much the worse for him, for his sufferings would now 
be over,” said Pepe ; the silence of the Indians shows that 
each is considering what punishment to inflict. The capture 
of one white is more precious in their eyes than that of a 
whole troop of horses.” 

The Indians, still on horseback, surrounded the prisoner, 
who, casting around him a despairing glance, saw on every 
side only bronzed and hardened faces. Then the Indians 
began to deliberate. 

Meanwhile, one who appeared to be the chief, and who 
was distinguished by his black plumes, jumped off his horse, 
and throwing the bridle to one of the men, advanced towards 
the island. Having reached the bank, he seemed to seek for 
footsteps on the sand. Bois-Rose’s heart beat violently, for 
this movement appeared to show some suspicion as to their 
presence. 

“ Can this wretch,” whispered he to Pepe, u smell flesh 
like the ogres in the fairy tales ?” 

13 * 


298 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Quien sabe — who knows ?” replied the Spaniard, in the 
phrase which is the common answer of his native country. 

But the sand trampled oyer by the wild horses who had 
come to drink, showed no traces of a human foot, and the 
Indian walked up the stream, still apparently seeking. 

“ The demon has some suspicion'” said Bois-Rose ; “ and 
he will discover the traces that we left half-a-mile off when 
we entered the bed of the river to get at this island. I told 
you,” added he, bitterly, “ that we should have entered two 
miles higher up ; but neither you nor Fabian wished it, and 
like a fool, I yielded to you.” 

The deliberation as to the fate of the prisoner was now 
doubtless over ; for cries of joy welcomed some proposition 
made by one of the Indians. But it was necessary to await 
the return and approbation of the chief, who was the man 
already known to us as the “ Blackbird.” He had continued 
his researches, and having reached the place where they had 
left the sand to enter the river, no longer doubted that the 
report brought to them had been correct ; and having his 
own private objects, he determined to follow it. Once 
assured of the presence of the three whites, he returned to 
his men, listened gravely to the result of their deliberations, 
answered in a few words, and then advanced slowly towards 
the river — after having given an order to five of his men who 
eet off at full gallop to execute it. 

The aquatic plants were open in the sunshine ; the breeze 
agitated the leaves of the osiers on the banks of the island, 
which was to all appearance as uninhabited as when the 
stream flowed only for the birds of heaven, and the buffaloes 
and wild horses of the plains. But an Indian could not be 
deceived by this apparent calm. The “ Blackbird ” made a 
speaking-trumpet of his hand, and cried in a language half- 
Indian, half-Spanish — 

“ The white warriors of the north may show themselves ; 


AN INDIAN DIPLOMAT. 


299 


the c Blackbird ’ is their friend. So, too, are the warriors he 
commands.” 

At these words, borne to them distinctly by the wind, the 
Canadian pressed the arm of Pepe ; both understood the 
mixed dialect of the Indian. 

“ What shall we reply ?” said he. 

“Nothing,” answered Pepe. 

The breeze which murmured through the reeds was the 
only answer the Indian could hear. 

He went on — 

“ The eagle may hide his track in the air fi*om the eye of 
an Apache ; the salmon in the stream leaves no trace behind 
him ; but a white man who crosses the desert is neither a 
salmon nor an eagle.” 

“Nor a gosling,” murmured Pep6 ; “ and a gosling only 
betrays himself by trying to sing.” 

The Indian listened again, but hearing nr. sound, con- 
tinued, without showing any signs of being discouraged, 
“The white warriors of the north are but three against 
twenty, and the red warriors engage their word to be friends 
and allies to them.” 

“ Wagh !” said Bois-Rose, “ for what perfidy has he need 
of us ?” 

“ Let him go on, and we shall hear ; he has not yet fin- 
ished, or I am much mistaken !” 

“When the white warriors know the intentions of the 
Blackbird, they will leave their hiding-place,” continued he, 
“ but they shall hear them. The white men of the north are 
the enemies of those of the south — their language, their reli- 
gion is different. The Apaches hold in their toils a whole 
camp of southern warriors.” 

“ So much the worse for the gold seekers,” said Bois« 
Rose. 

“If the warriors of the north will join the Indians with 


300 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


their long rifles, they shall share the horses and the treasures 
of the men of the south ; the Indians and the whites will 
dance together round the corpses of their enemies, and the 
ashes of their camp.” 

Bois-Rose and Pepe looked at each other in astonishment, 
and explained to Fabian the proposal made to them, but the 
lire of their eyes and their disdainful looks, showed that the 
noble trio had but one opinion on the subject — that of perish- 
ing rather than aiding the Indians to triumph even over 
their mortal enemies. 

“ Do you hear the miscreant,” cried Bois-Rose, using in 
indignation an image fit for the Indians, “he takes jaguars 
far jackals. Ah ! if Fabian were not here, a bullet would be 
my answer.” 

Meanwhile, the Indian feeling certain of the presence of 
the hunters in the island, began to lose patience — for the 
orders of the chiefs had been peremptory to attack the whites 
— but he, having his own opinions, wished to prove them 
right. He knew that the American or Canadian rifle never 
misses its aim, and three such allies seemed to him not to be 
despised. He therefore continued to speak : 

“ The buffalo of the prairies is not more easy to follow than 
the white man ; the track of the buffalo tells the Indian his 
age, his size, and the time of his passing. There are behind 
the reeds of the floating island a man as strong as a bison, 
and taller than the tallest rifle, a warrior of mingled north 
and south blood, and a young warrior of the pure south, but 
the alliance of these two with the first, indicates that they 
are enemies of the southern whites — for the weakest eve* 
seek the friendship of the strongest and espouse their cause.” 

“The sagacity of these dogs is admirable,” said Bois- 
Rose. 

“ Because they flatter you,” said Pepe, who seemed some* 
what annoyed at what the Indian had said. 


AN INDIAN DIPLOMAT. 


301 


“I wait for the answer of the whites,” continued the 
Blackbird. “ I hear only the sound of the river, and the 
wind which says to me, ‘the whites imagine a thousand 
errors ; they believe that the Indian has eyes behind nig 
back, that the track of the bison is invisible, and that reeds 
are ball proof.’ The Blackbird laughs at the words of the 
wind.” 

“ Ah !” said Bois-Rose, “ if we had entered but two miles 
higher up the river !” 

“ A friend disdained becomes a terrible enemy,” contiuued 
the chief. 

“We say something • similar among us,” muttered Pepe. 

The Blackbird now signed to the captive to approach. The 
latter advanced, and the chief pointed out to him the little 
island, and said, “ Can the rifle of the pale face send a ball 
into the space between those bushes ?” 

But the prisoner had understood only the little Spanish 
mixed with the Indian dialect, and he remained mute and 
trembling. Then the Blackbird spoke to one of his warriors, 
who placed in the hands of the prisoner the rifle that he had 
taken from him, and by gestures made him understand 
what was wanted of him. The unlucky man tried to take 
aim, but terror caused him to shake in such a fashion that his 
rifle was unsteady in his hands. 

“ If the Indian has no better way than that to make us 
speak,” said Pepe, “ I will not say a word until to-morrow !” 

The white man fired indeed, but the ball, directed by his 
trembling hands, fell into the water some distance from the 
island. The Blackbird glanced contemptuously at him, and 
then looked around him. 

“ Yes,” said Pepe ; “ seek for balls and powder among the 
lances and lassoes of your warriors.” 

But as he finished this consoling reflection, the five men 
who had gone away, returned armed for combat, with rifles 


802 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


and quivers full of arrows. They had been to fetch the arms 
which they had laid down, in order to follow the wild horses 
more freely. Five others now went off. 

“ This looks bad,” said Bois-Rose. 

“ Shall we attack them while they are but fifteen,” said 
Pepe. 

“No, let us remain silent; he still doubts whether we are 
here.” 

“ As you like.” 

The Indian chief now took a rifle and advanced again to 
the bank. 

“ The hands of the Blackbird do not tremble like a leaf 
shaken by the wind,” said he, pointing his rifle steadily 
towards the island. “ But before firing, he will wait while 
he counts one hundred, for the answer of the whites who 
are hidden in the island.” 

“ Get behind me, Fabian,” said Bois-Rose. 

“No, I stay here,” said Fabian, decidedly. “I am 
younger, and it is my place to expose myself for you.” 

“ Child ! do you not see that my body exceeds yours six 
inches on every side, and your remaining in front is but pre- 
senting a double mark.” 

And without shaking a single one of the reeds around the 
island, he advanced and knelt before Fabian. 

“ Let him do it, Fabian,” said Pepe. “ Never had man a 
more noble buckler, than the heart of the giant which beats 
in fear for you.” 

The Indian chief, rifle in hand, listened as he counted, but 
excepting the murmur of the water, a profound silence 
reigned everywhere. 

He fired at length, and the leaves of the trees flew into the 
air ; but as the three hunters knelt in a row they did not 
present a large aim, and the ball passed at some little distance 
from them. 


AN INDIAN DIPLOMAT. 


803 


The Blackbird waited a minute and cried again : “ The 
Indian was wrong, he acknowledges his error, he will seek 
fjr the white warriors elsewhere.” 

“ Who believes that ?” said Pepe ; “ he is more sure than 
ever. He is about to leave us alone for a few minutes, until 
he has finished with that poor devil yonder, which will not 
be long — since the death of a white is a spectacle which an 
Indian is always in a hurry to enjoy.” 

“ But had we better not make some effort in favour of the 
unlucky man ?” said Fabian. 

“ Some unexpected circumstances may come to our assist- 
ance,” replied Bois-Rose. “ Whatever Pepe says, the Indians 
may still doubt, but if we show ourselves, all is over. To 
accept an alliance with these Indians, even against Don 
Estevan de Arechiza, would be an unworthy cowardice. 
What can we do ?” added he, sadly. 

One fear tormented him ; he had seen Fabian in danger 
when his blood was boiling with passion, but had he the calm 
courage which meets death coolly. Had he the stoical 
resignation of which he himself had given so many proofs ? 
The Canadian took a sudden resolution. 

“ Listen, Fabian,” said he ; “ can I speak to you the lan- 
guage of a man ? Will the words which your ears will trans- 
mit to your heart not freeze it with terror ?” 

“ Why doubt my courage ?” replied Fabian in a tone of 
gentle reproach. “ Whatever you say, I will hear without 
growing pale ; whatever you do, I will do also, without trem- 
bling.” 

“ Don Fabian speaks truly, Pepe ; look at his eye,” said the 
Canadian, pressing Fabian in his arms; then he continued 
solemnly: “Never were three men in greater peril than we 
are now ; our enemies are seven times our number ; when 
each of us has killed six of them, there would still remain a 
Humber equal to our own.” 


304 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“We have done it before,” said Pepe. 

“ And we shall do it again,” cried Fabian. 

“Good, my child,” said Bois-Rose, “but whatever hap- 
pens, these demons must not take us alive. See, Fabian!” 
added the old man, in a voice that he tried to keep firm, 
while unsheathing a long knife, “ if we were left without pow- 
der or ammunition at the mercy of these dogs, about to fall 
into their hands, and this poignard in my hand was our only 
chance, what would you say ?” 

“ I would say, strike, father, and let us die together !” 

“Yes, yes,” cried the Canadian, looking with indescribable 
tenderness at him who called him father, “ it will be one means 
of never being separated.” And he held out to Fabian his 
hand trembling with emotion, which the latter kissed respect- 
fully. 

“Now,” said Bois-Rose, “whatever happens we shall not 
be separated. God will do the rest, and we shall try to save 
this unlucky man.” 

“ To work then !” said Fabian. 

“ Not yet, my child ; let us see what these red demons are 
about to do.” 

Meanwhile the Indian had ranged themselves in two lines, 
and the white man was placed a little in advance of them. 

“ I see what they are going to do,” said Bois-Rose, “ they 
are going to try if the poor wretch’s legs are better than his 
arms. They are about to chase him.” 

“ How so ?” said Fabian. 

“ They will place their captive a little in advance, then at 
a given signal he will run. Then all the Indians will run 
after him, lance and hatchet in hand. If the white is quick 
enough to reach the river before them, we will call to him to 
swim to us. Some shots will protect him, and he may reach 
here safe and sound. But if terror paralyses his limbs, as it 
did his hands just now, the foremost Indian will break his 


AN INDIAN DIPLOMA r. 


305 


head with a blow from a hatchet. In any case we shall do 
onr best.” 

At this moment the five other Indians returned armed 
from head to foot, and now joined the rest. Fabian looked 
with profound compassion at the unlucky white man, who 
with haggard eye, and features distorted by terror, waited in 
horrible anguish until the signal was given. But the 
Blackbird pointed to the bare feet of his warriors, and then 
to the leather buskins which protected the feet of the white 
man. They then saw the latter sit down and take them off 
slowly, as if to gain a few seconds. 

“The demons!” cried Fabian. 

“ Hush !” said Bois-Rose, “ do not by discovering yourself 
destroy the last chance of life for the poor wretch !” 

Fabian shut his eyes so as not to witness the horrible scene 
about to take place. At length the white man rose to his 
feet, and the Indians stood devouring him with their looks, 
until the Blackbird clapped his hands together, and then the 
howlings which followed could only be compared to those of 
a troop of jaguars in pursuit of a deer. The unlucky captive 
ran with great swiftness, but his pursuers bounded after him 
like tigers. Thanks to the start which he had had, he cleared 
safely a part of the distance which separated him from the 
river, but the stones which cut his feet mid the sharp thorns of 
the nopals soon caused him to slacken his pace, and one of 
the Indians rushed up and made a furious thrust at him with 
his lance. It passed between his arm and his body, and the 
Indian losing his equilibrium, fell on the sand. 

Gayferos, for it was he, appeared to hesitate a moment 
whether he should pick up the lance which the Indian 
had let fall, but then rapidly continued his course. That 
instant’s hesitation was fatal to him. All at once, amidst the 
cloud of dust raised by his feet, a hatchet shone over the head 
of the unfortunate Mexican, who was seen falling to the earth. 


806 


THE WOOD-EANGEKS. 


Bois-Rose was about to fire, but the fear of killing him 
whom he wished to defend, stopped his hand. For a single 
moment the wind cleared away the dust, and he fired, but it 
was too late, the Indian who fell under his ball was 
brandishing in his hand the scalp of the unhappy man. 
To this unexpected shot, the savages repiied with howls, 
and then rushed away from what they believed to be 
only a corpse. Soon, however, they saw the man rise, 
with his head laid bare, who after straggling a few paces, 
fell again, while the blood flowed in torrents from his 
wounds. 

“ Ah !” cried Bois-Rose, “ if there remains in him a spark 
of life — and people do not die only from scalping — we shall 
save hi m yet ; I swear we shall 1” 


CHAPTER X L I. 

INDIAN CUNNING. 

As the Canadian uttered the generous oath, wrung 
from him by indignation, it seemed to him that a sup- 
plicating voice reached him. “Is not the poor wretch 
calling for aid?” And he raised his head from behind 
its shelter. 

At sight of the fox-skm cap which covered the head of 
the giant, and of the long and heavy rifle which he raised like 
a willow wand, the Indians recognised one of their formid- 
able northern enemies, and recoiled in astonishment — for the 
Blackbird alone had been instructed as to whom they were 
seeking. Bois-Rose, looking towards the shore, now per 


INDIAN CUNNING. 


307 


ceived the unlucky Gayferos stretching out his arms towards 
him, and feebly calling for help. The dying Indian still held 
the scalp in his clenched hand. 

At this terrible spectacle the Canadian drew himself up to 
his full height. “ Fire on these dogs !” cried he, “ and 
remember — never let them take you alive.” 

So saying, he resolutely entered the water, and any other 
man would have had it up to his head, but the Canadian had 
all his shoulders above the surface. 

“ Do not fire till after me,” said Pepe to Fabian ; “ my hand 
is surer than yours, and my Kentucky rifle carries twice as 
far as your Liege gun.” And he held his rifle ready to 
fire at the slightest sign of hostility from the Indians. 

Meanwhile, Bois-Rose still advanced, the water growing 
gradually shallower, when an Indian raised his rifle ready to 
fire on the intrepid hunter ; but a bullet from Pepe stopped 
him, and he fell forward on his face. 

“Now you, Don Fabian!” said Pepe, throwing himself on 
the ground to reload, after the American custom in such 
cases. 

Fabian fired, but his rifle having a shorter range, the shot 
only drew from the Indian at whom he aimed a cry of rage. 
But Pepe had reloaded, and stood ready to fire again. 

There was a moment’s hesitation among the Indians, by 
which Bois Rose profited to draw towards him the body of 
the unlucky Gayferos. He, clinging to his shoulders, had the 
presence of mind to leave his preserver’s arms free ; who, 
with his burden, again entered the water, going backwards. 
Then his rifle was heard, and an Indian’s death-cry immedi- 
ately followed. This valiant retreat, protected by Pepe 
and Fabian, awed the Indians, and some minutes after, 
Bois-Rose triumphantly placed the fainting Gayferos on the 
island. 

There are three of them settled for,” said he,” and now 


308 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


We shall have a few minutes truce. Well, Fabian, do you 
see the advantage of firing in file? You did not do badly 
for a beginner, and I can assure you that when you have a 
Kentucky rifle like us, you will be a good marksman.” Then 
to Gayferos, “We came too late to save the skin of your 
head, my poor fellow, but console yourself, it is no such 
dreadful thing. I have many friends in the same condition, 
who are none the worse for it. Your life is saved — that is 
the great thing — and we shall endeavor to bind up your 
wounds.” 

Some strips torn from the shirt of Gayferos served to bind 
around his head a large mass of willow leaves crushed 
together and steeped in water, and concealed the hideous 
wound. The blood was then washed from his face. 

“ You see,” said Bois-Rose, still clinging to the idea of 
keeping Fabian near him, “ you must learn to know the 
habits of the desert, and of the Indians. The villains, who 
see by the loss of three of their men, what stuff we are made 
of, have retired to concoct some stratagem. You hear how 
silent all is after so much noise ?” 

The desert, indeed, had recovered its silence, the leaves 
only trembled in the evening breeze, and the water began to 
display brilliant colours in the setting sun. 

“Well, Pepe, they are but seventeen now!” continued 
Bois-Rose, in a tone of triumph. 

“ Oh ! we may succeed, if they do not get reinforcements.” 

“ That is a chance and a terrible one ; but our lives are in 
God’s hands,” replied Bois-Rose. “ Tell me friend !” said he 
to Gayferos, you probably belong to the camp of Don Este- 
van ?” 

“ Do you know him then ?” said the wounded man, in a. 
feeble voice. 

“Yes; and by what chance are you so far from the 

camp ?” 


INDIAN CUNNING. 


309 


The wounded man recounted how, by Don Este van’s 
orders, he had set off to seek for their lost guide, and that 
his evil star had brought him in contact with the Indians as 
they were hunting the wild horses. 

“What is the name of your guide ?” 

“ Cuchillo.” 

Fabian and Bois-Rose glanced at each other. 

“ Yes,” said the latter, “ there is some probability that 
your suspicions about that white demon were correct, and 
that he is conducting the expedition to the Golden Valley; 
but, my child, if we escape these Indians, we are close to it ; 
and once we are installed there, were they a hundred, we 
should succeed in defending ourselves.” 

This was whispered in Fabian’s ear. 

“ One word more,” said Bois-Rose to the wounded man, 
K and then we shall leave you to repose. How many men 
has Don Estevan with him ?” 

“ Sixty.” 

Bois-Rose now again bathed the head of the wounded 
Gayferos with cold water : and the unhappy man, refreshed 
for the moment, and weakened by loss of blood, fell into a 
lethargic sleep. 

“Now,” continued Bois-Rose, “ let us endeavor to build 
ap a rampart which shall be a little more ball and arrow- 
proof than this fringe of moving leaves and reeds. Did you 
count how many rifles the Indians had ?” 

“ Seven,” I believe, said Pepe. 

“ Then ten of them are less to be feared. They cannot 
attack us either on the right or the left — but perhaps they 
have made a detour to cross the river, and are about to place 
us between two fires.” 

The side of the islet opposite the shore on which the 
Indians had shown themselves, was sufficiently defended by 
enormous roots, bristling like chevaux-de-frise ; but the side 


310 


THE WOOD-BANGERS. 


where the attack was probably about to recommence </ai 
defended only by a thick row of reeds and osier-shoots. 

Thanks to his great strength, Bois-Rose, aided by Po*p6, 
succeeded in dragging from the end of the islet which faced 
the course of the stream, some large dry branches and fallen 
trunks of trees. A few minutes sufficed for the two skillful 
hunters to protect the feeble side with a rough but solid 
entrenchment, which would form a very good defence to the 
little garrison of the island. 

“Do you see, Fabian,” said Bois-Rose, “ You’ll be as safe 
behind these trunks of trees as in a stone fortress. You’ll 
be exposed only to the balls that may be fired from the tops 
of the trees, but I shall take care that none of these red-skins 
climb so high.” 

And quite happy at having raised a barrier between 
Fabian and death, he assigned him his post in the place most 
sheltered from the enemy. 

“ Did you remark,” said he to Pepe, “ how at every effort 
that we made to break a branch or disengage a block of 
wood, the island trembled to its foundation ?” 

“ Yes,” said Pepe, “ one might think that it was about to 
be torn from its base and follow the course of the stream.” 

The Canadian then cautioned his two companions to be 
careful of their ammunition, gave Fabian some instructions 
as to taking aim, pressed him to his heart, squeezed the hand 
of his old comrade, and then the three stationed themselves 
at their several posts. The surface of the river, the tops of 
the aspens growing on the bank, the banks themselves and 
the reeds, were all objects of examination for the hunters, as 
the night was fast coming on. 

“ This is the hour when the demons of darkness lay their 
snares,” said Bois-Rose, “ when these human jaguars seek 
for their prey. It was of them that the Scriptures 
spoke.” 


INDIAN CUNNING. 


311 


No one replied to this speech, which was uttered rather as 
a soliloquy. 

Meanwhile, the darkness was creeping on little by little, 
and the bushes which grew on the bank began to assume 
the fantastic forms given to objects by the uncertain twi- 
light. 

The green of the trees began to look black ; but habit had 
given to Bois-Rose and to Pepe eyes as piercing as those of 
the Indians themselves, and nothing, with the vigilance they 
were exerting, could have deceived them. 

“ Pepe,” whispered Bois-Rose, pointing to a tuft of osiers, 
“does it not seem to you that that bush has changed its 
form and grown larger ?” 

“Yes; it has changed its form!” 

“ See, Fabian ! you have the piercing sight that I had at 
your age ; does it not appear to you that at the left-hand 
side of that tuft of osiers the leaves no longer look natural ?” 

The young man pushed the reeds on one side, and gazed 
for a while attentively. 

“ I could swear it,” said he, “ but .” He stopped, and 

looked in another direction. 

“Well ! do you see anything ?” 

“ I see, between that willow and the aspen, about ten feet 
from the tuft of osiers, a bush which certainly was not there 
just now.” 

“ Ah ! see what it is to live far from towns the least 
points of the landscape fix themselves in the memory, and 
become precious indications. You are born to live the life 
of a hunter, Fabian !” 

Pepe levelled his rifle at the bush indicated by Fabian. 

“ Pepe understands it at once,” said Bois-Rose ; “ he 
knows, like me, that the Indians have employed their time in 
cutting down branches to form a temporary shelter ; but 1 
think two of us at least may teach them a few stratagems 


312 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


that they do not yet know. Leave that bush to Fabian : it 
will be an easy mark for him ; fire at the branches whoso 
leaves are beginning to wither — there is an Indian behind 
them. Fire in the centre, Fabian !” 

The two rifles were heard simultaneously, and the false 
bush fell, displaying a red body behind the leaves, while the 
branches which had been added were convulsively agitated. 
All three then threw themselves on the ground, and a dis- 
charge of balls immediately flew over their heads, covering 
them with leaves and broken branches, while the war-cry of 
the Indians sounded in their ears. 

“ If I do not deceive myself, they are now but fifteen,” 
said Bois-Rose, as he quitted his horizontal posture, and 
knelt on the ground. 

“ Be still !” added he. “ I see the leaves of an aspen trem- 
ble more than the wind alone could cause them to do. It is 
doubtless one of those fellows who has climbed up into the 
tree.” 

As he spoke, a bullet struck one of the trunks of which the 
islet was composed, and proved that he had guessed rightly. 

“Wagh!” said the Canadian, “I must resort to a trick 
that will force him to show himself.” 

So saying, he took off his cap and coat, and placed them 
between the branches, where they could be seen. “Now,” 
said he, “ if I were fighting a white soldier, I would place 
myself by the side of my coat, for he would fire at the coat ; 
with an Indian I shall stand behind it, for he will not be 
deceived in the same manner, and will aim to one side of it 
Lie down, Fabian and Pep6, and in a minute you shall hear 
a bullet whistle either to the right or the left of the mark I 
have set up.” 

As Bois-Rose said this, he knelt down behind his coat, 
ready to fire at the aspen. 

He was not wrong in his conjectures ; in a moment, the 


INDIAN CUNNING. 


31S 


balls of the Indians cut the leaves on each side of the coat, 
but without touching either of the three companions, who 
had placed themselves in a line. 

“ Ah,” cried the Canadian, “ there are whites who can 
fight the Indians with their own weapons ; we shall presently 
have an enemy the less.” 

And saying this, he fired into the aspen, out of which the 
body of an Indian was seen to fall, rolling from branch to 
branch like a fruit knocked from its stem. 

At this feat of the Canadian, the savage howlings 
resounded with so much fury, that it required nerves of iron 
not to shudder at them. Gayferos himself, whom the firing 
had not roused, shook off his lethargy and murmured, in a 
trembling voice, “ Virgen de los Dolores ! Would not one 
say it was a band of tigers howling in the darkness ? — Holy 
Virgin ! have pity on me !” 

“Thank her rather,” interrupted the Canadian; “the 
knaves might deceive a novice like you, but not an old hun- 
ter like me. You have heard the jackals of an evening in 
the forest, howl and answer each other as though there were 
hundreds of them, when there were but three or four. The 
Indians imitate the jackals, and I will answer for it there are 
not more than a dozen now behind those trees. Ah ! if I 
could but get them to cross the water, not one of them should 
return to carry the news of their disaster.” 

Then, as if a sudden thought had flashed across his mind, 
he directed his companions to lie down on their backs — in 
which position they were protected by the trunks of the trees. 
“We are in safety as long as we lie thus,” said he, “ only 
keep your eye on the tops of the trees ; it is from these only 
they can reach us. Fire only if you see them climb up, but 
otherwise remain motionless. The knaves will not willingly 
depart without our scalps, and must make up their minds at 
last to attack us.” 


14 


314 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


This resolution of the hunter seemed to have been inspired 
by heaven, for scarcely had they laid down before a shower 
of balls and arrows tore to pieces the border of reeds, and 
broke the branches behind which they had been kneeling a 
minute before. Bois-Rose pulled down his coat and hat, as 
though he himself had fallen, and then the most profound 
silence reigned in the island, after this apparently murderous 
fire. Cries of triumph followed this silence, and then a 
second discharge of bullets and arrows. 

“ Is not that an Indian mounting the willow ?” whispered 
Pepe. 

“ Yes, but let us risk his fire without stirring ; lie all of us 
as if we were dead. Then he will go and tell his compa- 
nions that he has counted the corpses of the pale faces.” 

In spite of the danger incurred by this stratagem, the pro- 
position of Bois-Rose was accepted, and each remained 
motionless, watching, not without anxiety, the manoeuvres 
of the 'Indian. With extreme precaution the red warrior 
climbed from branch to branch, until he had reached a point 
from which he could overlook the whole islet. 

There remained just sufiicient daylight to observe his 
movements when the foliage itself did not hide them. When 
he had reached the desired height, the Indian, resting on a 
thick branch, advanced his head with precaution. The sight 
of the bodies extended on the ground appeared not to sur- 
prise him, and he now openly pointed his rifle towards them. 
This he did several times, apparently taking aim, but not 
one of the hunters stirred. Then the Indian uttered a cryol 
triumph. “ The shark takes the bait,” muttered Bois-Rose. 

“ I shall recognise this son of a dog,” rejoined Pepe, “ and 
if I do not repay him for the anxiety he has caused me, it is 
because the bullet he is about to send will prevent me.” 

“ It is the Blackbird,” said Bois-Rose, “ he is both brave 
and dexterous — lie close !” 


INDIAN CUNNING. 


3 >^ 

The Indian once more took aim, and then fired ; a branch 
knocked from a tree just above Pepe, fell upon him and hurt 
his forehead. He stirred no more than the dead wood against 
which he leaned, but said, “ Rascal of a redskin, I’ll pay you 
for this before long.” 

Some drops of blood fell upon the face of the Canadian. 

“ Is any one wounded ?” said he, with a shudder. 

“ A scratch, nothing more,” said Pepe, “ God be praised !” 

Just then the Indian uttered a cry of joy, as he descended 
from the tree on which he had mounted, and the three friends 
again breathed freely. 

And yet some doubt seemed to remain in the minds of the 
Indians, for a long and solemn silence followed the manoeuvre 
of their chief. 

The sun had now set, the short twilight had passed away, 
night had come on, and the moon shone on the river, yet 
still the Indians did not stir. 

“ Our scalps tempt them, but they still hesitate to come 
and take them,” said Pepe, who was becoming very tired of 
doing nothing. 

“ Patience !” whispered Bois-Rose, “ the Indians are like 
the vultures, who dare not attack a body until it begins to 
decay. We may look out for them by-and-bye. Let us 
resume our position behind the reeds.” 

The hunters again quickly knelt down and continued to 
watch their enemies. 

Before long an Indian showed himself very cautiously, 
another then joined him, and both approached with increas- 
ing confidence, followed by others, until Bois-Rose counted 
ten in the moonlight. 

“ They will cross the river in file, I expect,” said he. 
“ Fabian, you fire at the first, Pepe will aim at the centre, 
and I at the last but one. In that way they cannot all attack 
together. It will be a hand to hand struggle, but you, Fabian, 


316 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


while Pepe and I wait for them knife in hand, shall load out 
rifles and pass them to us. By the memory of your mother. 
I forbid you to fight with these wretches.” 

As the Canadian uttered these words, a tall Indian entered 
the river, followed by nine others. All advanced with the 
utmost caution ; they might have been taken for the shades 
of warriors returned from the land of spirits. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

THE BLACKBIRD. 

Death seemed to the eyes of the Indians to reign over 
the island — for the hunters held even their breath — and yet 
they advanced with the utmost care. 

The foremost man, who was the “ Blackbird ” himself, had 
reached a place where the water began to be deep, as the 
the last man was just leaving the bank. But just as Fabian 
was about to take aim against the chief, to the great regret 
of Pepe, the “ Blackbird,” either fearful of danger, or 
because a ray of moonlight gleaming on the rifles told him 
his enemy still lived, dived suddenly under the water. 

“ Fire !” cried Bois-Rose, and immediately the last Indian 
of the file fell to rise no more, and two others appeared 
struggling in the water, and were quickly borne off by the 
stream. Pepe and Bois-Rose then threw their rifles behind 
them as agreed upon, for Fabian to reload, while they them- 
selves stood upon tne bank, knives in hand. 

“ The Apaches are still seven,” shouted Bois-Rose, in a 
voice of thunder, anxious to finish the struggle, and feeling 


THE BLACKBIRD. 


317 


all his hatred of the Indians awakened within him, “ will 
they dare to come and take the scalps of the whites ?” 

But the disappearance of their chief and the death of their 
comrades had disconcerted the Indians ; they did not fly, 
but they remained undecided and motionless, as black rocks 
bathed by the shining waters of the river. 

“ Can the red warriors only scalp dead bodies ?” added 
Pepe with a contemptuous laugh. “ Are the Apaches like 
vultures who only attack the dead ? Advance then, dogs, 
vultures, women -without courage !” shouted he, at the sight 
of their enemies, who were now rapidly regaining the bank. 
Suddenly, however, he noticed a body floating on its back, 
whose bright eyes showed that it was not a corpse, as the 
extended arms and motionless body seemed to indicate. 

“ Don Fabian* my rifle ! there is the ‘ Blackbird * pretend- 
ing to be dead and floating down the stream.” 

Pepe took the rifle from Fabian, and aimed at the floating 
body, but not a muscle stirred. The hunter lowered his rifle ; 
“ I was wrong,” said he, aloud, “ the white men do not, like 
the Indians, waste their powder on dead bodies.” 

The body still floated, with outspread legs and extended 
arms. Pepe again raised his rifle and again lowered it. 
Then, when he thought that he had paid off anguish for 
anguish to the Indian chief, he fired, and the body floated no 
longer. 

u Have you killed him ?” asked Bois-Rose. 

“No, I only wished to break his shoulder bone, that he 
may always have cause to remember the shudder he gave, 
and the treason he proposed to me. If he were dead, he 
would still float.” 

« You might have done better to have killed him. But 
what is to be done now? I hoped to finish with these 
demons, and now our work is still to be done. W e cannot 
rross the river to attack them.” 


318 


THE WOOD-RANGERS, 


“ It is the best thing we can do.” 

“ With Fabian, I cannot decide to do it, or I should be 
now on the bank opposite, where you know as well as I do 
they still are breathing their infernal vengeance.” 

The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders with stoical resigna- 
tion. 

“ Doubtless,” said he, “ but we must decide either to fly 
or to stay.” 

“Carramba!” continued he, “if we two were alone we 
would gain the opposite bank in a minute ; the seven who 
are left would catch us no doubt, but we should come out of 
it, as we have out of more difficult situations.” 

“ It would be better than to stay here like foxes in their 
hole.” 

“ I agree : but Fabian ! and the unlucky scalped man, 
whom we cannot abandon thus to the mercy of the wretches 
who have already treated him so cruelly. Let us wait at 
least, until the moon has set, and darkness comes on.” 

And the old man hung his head with an air of discourage- 
ment — which made a painful impression on the Spaniard — 
raising it only to glance anxiously at the sky ; where the 
moon held on her ordinary course over the starry blue. 

“ So be it,” said Pepe ; “ but, stay ! we killed first five 
Indians, then three, that makes eight ; there should have 
been twelve left ; why did we only count ten in the water ? 
Depend upon it, the Blackbird has sent the two others to 
seek for reinforcements.” 

“ It is possible : to remain here or to fly are both terrible.” 

For some time the hunters thus continued to deliberate ; 
meanwhile, the moonbeams began to fall more obliquely, and 
already a part of the tops of the trees were in shadow. More 
than an hour had elapsed since the attempt of the Indians, and 
Pepe, less absorbed than Bois-Rose, was watching anxiously 

“ That cursed moon will never go down,” said he, “ and it 


THE BLACKBIKD. 


319 


seems to me that I hear something like the noise of feet in 
the water : the buffaloes do not come down to drink at this 
time of night.” 

So saying, he rose and leaning right and left, looked up 
and down the stream, but on each side extended an impene- 
trable veil of fog.> The coolness of the American night 
w T hich succeeds the burning heat of the day, condenses thus 
in thick clouds the exhalations of the ground, and of the 
waters heated by the sun. 

“ I can see nothing but fog,” said he. 

Little by little the vague sounds died away, and the air 
recovered its habitual calm and silence. The moon was fast 
going down, and all nature seemed sleeping, when the occu- 
pants of the island started up in terror. 

From both sides of the river rose shouts so piercing that 
the banks echoed them long after the mouths that uttered 
them were closed. Henceforth flight was impossible ; the 
Indians had encompassed the island. 

“ The moon may go down now,” cried Pepe with rage. 
“ Ah ! with reason I feared the two absent men, and the 
noises that I heard ; it was the Indians who were gaining the 
opposite bank. Who knows how many enemies we have 
around us now ?” 

“What matter,” replied Bois-Rose gloomily, “whether 
there are one hundred vultures to tear our bodies, or a hun- 
dred Indians to howl round us when we are dead ?” 

“ It is true that the number matters little in such circum- 
stances, but it will be a day of triumph for them.” 

“ Are you going to sing your death song like them, who, 
when tied to the stake, recall the number of scalps they havo 
taken ?” 

“ And why not ? it is a very good custom, it helps one to 
die like a hero, and to remember that you have lived like a 
man.” 


320 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Let us rather try to die like Christians,” replied Bois* 
Rose. 

Then drawing Fabian towards him, he said : 

“ I scarcely know, my beloved child, what I had dreamed 
of for you; I am half savage and half civilized, and my 
dreams partook of both. Sometimes I wished to restore you 
to the honours of this world — to your honours, your titles — 
and to add to them all the treasures of the Golden Valley. 
Then I dreamed only of the splendour of the desert, and its 
majestic harmonies, which lull a man to his rest, and entrance 
him at his waking. But I can truly say that the dominant 
idea in my mind was that of never quitting you. Must that 
be accomplished in death? So young, so brave, so hand- 
some, must you meet the same fate as a man who would 
soon be useless in the world ?” 

“ Who would love me when you were gone ?” replied 
Fabian, in a voice which their terrible situation deprived 
neither of its sweetness nor firmness. “ Before I met you, 
the grave had closed upon all I loved, and the sole living 
being who could replace them was — you. What have 1 to 
regret in this world ?>* 

“ The future, my child ; the future into which youth longs 
to plunge, like the thirsty stag into the lake.” 

Distant firing now interrupted the melancholy reflections 
of the old hunter ; the Indians were attacking the camp of 
Don Estevan. The reader knows the result. 

Suddenly they heard a voice from the bank, saying, “ Let 
the white men open their ears I” 

“ It is the ‘ Blackbird ’ again,” cried Pepe. It was indeed 
he, supported by two Indians. 

“Why should they open their ears?” answered Pepe. 
“ The whites laugh at the menaces of the Blackbird,’ and 
despise his promises.” 

“ Good !” said the Indian ; “ the whites are brave, and 


THE BLACKBIRD. 


821 


they will need all their bravery. The white men of the 
south are being attacked now ; why are the men of the north 
not against them ?” 

“ Because you are a bird of doleful plumage ! because lions 
do not hunt with jackals, for jackals can only howl while the 
lion devours. Apply the compliment ; it is a fine flower of 
Indian rhetoric,” cried Pepe, exasperated. 

w Good ! the whites are like the conquered Indian, insult- 
ing his conqueror. But the eagle laughs at the words of the 
mockingbird, and it is not to him that the eagle deigns to 
address himself.” 

“ To whom then ?” cried Pepe. 

“ To the giant, his brother, the eagle of the snowy moun- 
tains, who disdains to imitate the language of other birds.” 

“ What do you want of him ?” said Bois-Rose. 

“ The Indian would hear the northern warrior ask for life.” 
replied the Blackbird. 

“ I have a different demand to make,” said the Canadian. 

u I listen,” replied the Indian. 

u If you will swear on the honour of a warrior, and on 
your father’s bones, that you will spare my companions’ lives, 
I shall cross the river alone without arms, and bring you my 
scalp on my head. That will tempt him,” added Bois-Rose 

“ Are you mad, Bois-Rose ?” cried Pepe. 

Fabian flew towards the Canadian : “ At the first step you 
make towards the Indian, I shall kill you,” cried he. 

The old hunter felt his heart melt at the sound of the two 
voices that he loved so much. A short silence followed, 
then came the answer from the bank. 

“ The Blackbird wishes the white man to ask for life, and 
he asks for death. My wish is this, let the white man of the 
north quit his companions, and I swear on my father’s bones, 
that his life shall be saved, but his alone ; the other three 
must die.” 


14 * 


322 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Bois-Rose disdained to reply to this offer, and the Indian 
chief waited vainly for a refusal or an acceptance. Then he 
continued : “ Until the hour of their death, the whites hear 
the voice of the Indian chief for the last time. My warriors 
surround the island and the river. Indian blood has been 
spilled and must be revenged ; white blood must flow. But 
the Indian does not wish for this blood warmed by the 
ardour of the combat, he wishes for it frozen by terror, 
impoverished by hunger. He will take the whites living ; 
then, when he holds them in his clutches, when they are like 
hungry dogs howling after a bone, he will see what men are 
like after fear and privation ; he will make of their skin a 
saddle for his war horse, and each of their scalps shall be 
suspended to his saddle, as a trophy of vengeance. My 
warriors shall surround the island for fifteen days and nights 
if necessary, in order to make capture of the white men.” 

After these terrible menaces the Indian disappeared behind 
the trees. But Pepe not willing that he should believe he 
had intimidated them, cried as coldly as anger would permit, 
“ Dog, who can do nothing but bark, the whites despise your 
vain bravados. Jackal, unclean polecat, I despise you — I — * 
I dbut rage prevented him from saying more, and he 
finished ofi* by a gesture of contempt ; then with a loud laugh 
he sat down, satisfied at having had the last word. As for 
Bois-Rose he saw in it all only the refusal of his heroic sacri- 
fice. 

“ Ah !” sighed the generous old man, u I could have 
arranged it all ; now it is too late.” 

The moon had gone down ; the sound of distant firing had 
ceased, and the darkness made the three friends feel still 
more forcibly how easy it would have been to gain the oppo- 
site bank, carrying in their arms the wounded man. He, 
insensible to all that was passing, still slept heavily. 

“ Thus,” said Pepe, first breaking silence, “ we have fifteen 


THE BLACKBIRD. 


823 


days to live; it is true we have not much provision, hut 
carramba ! we shall fish for food and for amusement.” 

“ Let us think,” said Bois-Rose, “ of employing usefully the 
hours before daylight.” 

“ In what ?” 

“ Parbleu ! in escaping !” 

“ But how ?” 

“ That is the question. You can swim, Fabian ?” 

“How else should I have escaped from the Salto de 
Agua ?” 

“True! I believe that fear confuses my brain. Well! it 
would not be impossible, perhaps, to dig a hole in the middle 
of this island, and to slip through this opening into the water. 
The night is so dark, that if the Indians do not see us throw 
ourselves into the water, we might gain a place some way off 
with safety. Stay, I shall try an experiment.” So saying, 
he detached, with some trouble, one of the trunks from the 
little island; and its knotty end looked not unlike a human 
head. This he placed carefully on the water, and soon it 
floated gently down the stream. The three friends followed 
its course anxiously ; then, when it had disappeared, Bois- 
Rose said : 

“ You see, a prudent swimmer might pass in the same 
manner ; not an Indian has noticed it.” 

“That is true ; but who knows that their eyes cannot dis- 
tinguish a man from a piece of wood ?” said Pepe. “ Besides, 
we have with us a man who cannot swim.” 

“ Whom?” 

The Spaniard pointed to the wounded man ; who groaned 
in his sleep, as though his guardian angel warned him that 
there was a question of abandoning him to his enemies. 

“ What matter ?” said Bois-Rose ; “ is his life worth that 
of the last of the Medianas ?” 

“ No,” replied the Spaniard ; “ and I, who half wanted a 


324 : 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


short time ago to abandon the poor wretch, think now it would 
be cowardly.” 

“Perhaps,” added Fabian, “he has children, who would 
weep for their father.” 

“It would be a bad action, and would bring us ill luck,” 
added Pepe. 

All the superstitious tenderness of the Canadian awoke at 
these words, and he said — 

“Well, then, Fabian, you are a good swimmer, follow this 
plan : Pepe and I will stay here and guard this man, and if 
■we die here, it will be in the discharge of our duty, and with 
the joy of knowing you to be safe.” 

But Fabian shook his head. 

“ I care not for life without you ; I shall stay,” said he 

“ What can be done then ?” 

“ Let us think,” said Pepe. 

But it was unluckily one of those cases in which all human 
resources are vain, for it was one of those desperate situations 
from which a higher power alone could extricate them. In 
vain tne fog thickened and the night grew darker ; the reso- 
lution not to abandon the wounded man opposed an insur- 
mountable obstacle to their escape, and before long the fires 
lighted by the Indians along each bank, threw a red light 
over the stream, and rendered this plan impracticable 
Except for these fires, the most complete calm reigned, for 
no enemy was visible, no human voice troubled the silence 
of the night. However, the fog grew more and more dense, 
the stream disappeared from view, and even the fires looked 
only like pale and indistinct lights under the shadowy out 
line of the trees. 


A FEAT OF HERCULEAN STRENGTH. 




CHAPTER XLIII. 

A FEAT OF HERCULEAN STRENGTH. 

Let us now glance at the spot occupied by the Blackbiid, 
The fires lighted on the banks threw at first so strong a light 
that nothing could escape the eyes of the Indians, and a sen- 
tinel placed near each fire was charged to observe carefully 
all that passed on the island. Seated and leaning against the 
trunk of a tree, his broken shoulder bound up with strips of 
leather, the Blackbird only showed on his face an expression 
of satisfied ferocity ; as for the suffering he was undergoing, 
he would have thought it unworthy of him to betray the 
least indication of it. His ardent eye was fixed continually 
on the spot where were the three men, whom he pictured to 
himself as full of anguish. 

But as the fog grew thicker, first the opposite bank and 
then the island itself, became totally invisible. The Indian 
chief felt that it was necessary to redouble his surveillance. 
He ordered one man to cross the river, and another to walk 
along the bank, and exhorted every one to watchfulness. 

“ Go,” said he, “ and tell those of my warriors who are 
ordered to watch these Christians — whose skins and scalps 
shall serve as ornaments to our horses — that they must each 
have four ears, to replace the eyes that the fog has rendered 
useless. Tell them that their vigilance will merit their chiefs 
gratitude ; but that if they allow sleep to deaden their 
senses, the hatchet of the Blackbird will send them to sleep 
in the land of spirits.” 


326 


THE W00D-RASGERS. 


The two messengers set off, and soon returned to tell the 
chief that he might rest - satisfied that attention would be 
paid to his orders. Indeed, stimulated at once by their own 
hatred of the whites, and by the hope of a recompense — 
fearing if sleep surprised them, not so much the threatened 
punishment as the idea of awaking in the hunting-grounds 
of the land of spirits, bearing on their foreheads the mark 
of shame which accompanies the sentinel who gives way to 
sleep — the sentinels had redoubled their vigilance. There 
are few sounds that can escape the marvellous ears of an 
Indian, but on this occasion the fog made it difficult to hear 
as well as to see, and the strictest attention was necessary. 
With closed eyes and open ears, and standing up to chase 
away the heaviness that the silence of nature caused them to 
feel, the Indian warriors stood motionless near their fires, 
throwing on from time to time some fagots to keep them 
ablaze. 

Some time passed thus, during which the only sound heard 
was that of a distant fall in the river. 

The Blackbird remained on the left bank, and the night 
air, as it inflamed his wounds only, excited his hatred the 
more. His face covered with hideous paint, and contracted 
by the pain — of which he disdained to make complaint — and 
his brilliant eyes, made him resemble one of the sanguinary 
idols of barbarous times. Little by little, however, in spite 
of himself, his eyes were weighed down by sleep, and an 
invincible drowsiness took possession of his spirit. Before 
long his sleep became so profound, that he did not hear the 
dry branches crackle under a moccasin, as an Indian of his 
tribe advanced towards him. 

Straight and motionless as a bamboo stem, an Indian run- 
ner covered with blood and panting for breath, waited for 
some time until the chief, before whom he stood, should open 
his eyes and interrogate him. As the latter showed no signs 


A FEAT OF HERCULEAN STRENGTH. 


327 


of awaking, the runner resolved to announce his presence, 
and in a hollow, guttural voice, said — 

“ When the Blackbird shall open his eyes, he will hear 
from my mouth words which will chase sleep far from him.” 

The chief opened his eyes at the’ voice, and shook off his 
drowsiness with a violent effort. Ashamed at having been 
surprised asleep, he muttered : 

“ The Blackbird has lost much blood ; he has lost so 
much that the next sun will not dry it on the ground, and 
his body is more feeble than his will.” 

“Man is made thus,” rejoined the messenger, senten- 
tiously. 

The Blackbird continued without noticing the reflection : 

“ It is some very important message doubtless, since the 
Spotted Cat has chosen the fleetest of his runners to carry it ?” 

“ The Spotted Cat will send no more messengers,” replied 
the Indian. “The lance of a white man has pierced his 
breast, and the chief now hunts with his fathers in the land 
of spirits.” 

“ What matter ! he died a conqueror ? he saw, before ho 
died, the white dogs dispersed over the plain ?” 

“ He died conquered : and the Apaches had to fly after 
losing their chief and fifty of their renowned warriors.” 

In spite of his wound, and of the empire that an Indian 
should exercise over himself, the Blackbird started up at 
these words. However, he restrained himself, and replied 
gravely, though with trembling lips — 

“ Who, then, sends you to me, messenger of ill ?” 

“ The warriors, who want a chief to repair their defeat 
The Blackbird was but the chief of a tribe, he is now the 
chief of a whole people.” 

Satisfied pride shone in the eye of the Indian, at his aug- 
mented authority. 

“ If the rifles of the north had been joined to ours, the 


328 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


whites of the south would have been conquered.” But as 
he recalled to mind the insulting manner in which the two 
hunters had rejected his proposal, his eyes darted forth 
flames of hatred, and pointing to his wound, he said, “ What 
can a wounded chief do ? His limbs refuse to carry him, and 
he can scarcely sit on his horse.” 

“We can tie him on; a chief is at once ahead and an 
arm — if the arm be powerless the head will act, and the sight 
of their chiefs blood will animate our warriors. The council 
fire was lighted anew after the defeat, and the warriors wait 
for the Blackbird to make his voice heard ; his battle-horse 
is ready— let us go !” 

“ No,” replied the Blackbird, “ my warriors encompass, on 
each bank, the white hunters whom I wished to have for 
allies ; now they are enemies ; the ball of one of them has 
rendered useless for six moons, the arm that was so strong 
in combat ; and were I offered the command of ten nations, 
I would refuse it, to await here the hour when the blood 
that I thirst for shall flow before my eyes.” 

The chief then recounted briefly the captivity of Gayferos, 
his deliverance by the Canadian, the rejection of his pro- 
posals and the vow of vengeance he had made. 

The messenger listened gravely ; he felt all the importance 
of making a new attack on the gold-seekers, at the moment, 
when, delighted at their victory, they believed themselves 
safe, and he proposed to the Blackbird to leave some one 
behind in his place to watch the island ; but the Blackbird 
was immoveable. 

“ Well!” said the runner, “ before long the sun will begin 
to rise ; I shall wait until daylight to report to the Apaches 
that the Blackbird prefers his personal vengeance to the 
honour of the entire nation. By deferring my departure, I 
shall have retarded the moment when our warriors will have 
to regret the loss of the bravest among them.” 


A FEAT OF HERCULEAN STRENGTH. 


329 


“ So be it,” said the chief, in a grave tone, although n uch 
pleased by this adroit flattery, “ but a messenger has need 
of repose after a battle followed by a long journey. Mean- 
while, I would listen to the account of the combat in which 
the Spotted Cat lost his life.” 

The messenger sat down near the fire, with crossed legs, 
and with one elbow on his knee and his head leaning on his 
hand, after a few minutes’ rest, gave a circumstantial account 
of the attack on the white camp — omitting no fact which 
might awaken the hatred of the Blackbird against the Mexi- 
can invaders. 

This over, he laid down and slept, or seemed to sleep. 
But the tumultuous and contrary passions which struggled 
in the heart of the Blackbird — ambition on the one hand, 
and thirst for vengeance on the other — kept him awake 
without effort. In about an hour the runner half rose, and 
pushing back the cloak of skin which he had drawn over hia 
head he perceived the Blackbird still sitting in the same 
attitude. 

“ The silence of the night has spoken to me,” said he, 
“ and I thought that a renowned chief like the Blackbird 
might, before the rising sun, have his enemies in his power 
and hear their death song.” 

“My warriors cannot walk on the water as on the war 
path,” replied he ; “ the men of the north do not resemble 
those of the south, whose rifles are like reeds in their 
hands.” 

“ The blood that the Blackbird has lost deceives his intel- 
lects and obscures his vision ; if he shall permit it, I shall act 
for him, and to-morrow his vengance will be complete.” 

“ Do as you like ; from whatever side vengeance comes, it. 
will be agreeable to me.” 

“ Enough. I shall soon bring here the three hunters, and 
him whose scalp they could not save.” 


330 


THE WOOD- RANGERS. 


So saying the messenger rose and was. soon hidden by the 
fog from the eyes of the Blackbird. 

On the island more generous emotions were felt. Frone 
the eyes of its occupants sleep had also fled — for if there be a 
moment in life, when the hearts of the bravest may fail them, 
it is when danger is terrible and inevitable, and when not 
even the last consolation of selling life dearly is possible to 
them. Watched by enemies whom they could not see, the 
hunters could not satisfy their rage by making their foes fall 
beneath their bullets as they had done the evening before. 
Besides, both Bois-Rose and Pepe knew too well the implaca- 
ble obstinacy of the Indians to suppose that the Blackbird 
would permit his warriors to reply to their attacks ; a soldier’s 
death would have seemed too easy to him. 

Oppressed by these sad thoughts, the three hunters spoke 
no more, but resigned themselves to their fate, rather than 
abandon the unlucky stranger by attempting to escape. 

Fabian was as determined to die as the others. The ha- 
bitual sadness of his spirit robbed death of its terrors, but 
still the ardour of his mind would have caused him to prefer 
a quicker death, weapon in hand, to the slow and ignominious 
one reserved for them. He was the first to break silence. 
The profound tranquillity that reigned on the banks was to 
the experienced eyes of the Canadian and Pepe only a cer- 
tain indication of the invincible resolution of their enemies ; 
but to Fabian it appeared reassuring — a blessing by which 
they ought to proft. 

“ All sleeps now around us,” said he, “ not only the Indians 
on the banks, but all that has life in the woods and in the 
desert — the river itself seems to be running slower ! See 1 
the reflections of the fires die away ! would it not be the time 
to attempt a descent on the bank ?” 

“ The Indians sleep !” interrupted Pepe, bitterly, “ yes, like 
the water which seems stagnant, but none the less pursues 


A FEAT OF HERCULEAN STRENGTH. 


331 


its course. You could not take three steps in the river before 
the Indians would rush after you as you have often seen 
wolves rush after a stag. Have you nothing better to pro- 
pose, Bois-Rose ?” 

“No,” replied he as his hand sought that of Fabian, while 
with the other he pointed to the sick man, tossing restlessly 
on his couch of pain. 

“ But, in default of all other chance,” said Fabian, “ we 
should at least have that of dying with honour, side by side 
as we would wish. If we are victorious, we. can then return 
to the aid of this unfortunate man. If we fall, God himself, 
when we appear before him, cannot reproach us with the sac- 
rifice of his life, since we risked our own for the common 
good.” 

“No,” replied Bois-Rose ; “but let us still hope in that 
God, who reunited us by a miracle ; “what does not happen 
to-day, may to-morrow ; we have time before us before our 
provisions fail. To attempt to take the bank now, w T ould be 
to march to certain death. To die would be nothing, and we 
always hold that last resource in our own hands ; but we 
might perhaps be made prisoners, and then I shudder to 
think of what would be our fate. Oh! my beloved Fabian, 
these Indians in their determination to take us alive give 
me at least the happiness of being yet a few days beside 
you.” 

Silence again resumed its reign ; but as Bois-Rose thought 
of the terrible denouement, he clutched convulsively at 
some of the trunks of the dead trees, and under his power- 
ful grasp the islet trembled as though about to be torn from 
its base. 

“ Ah ! the wretches ! the demons !” cried Pepe, with a sud- 
den explosion of rage. “ Look yonder !” 

A red light was piercing gradually through the veil of 
vapour which hung over the river, and seemed to advance 


332 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


and grow larger ; but, strange to say, the fire floated on the 
water, and, intense as was the fog, the mass of flames dissi- 
pated it as the sun disperses the clouds. The three hunters 
had barely time to be astonished at this apparition, before 
they guessed its cause. A long course of life in the desert 
and its dangers had imparted to the Canadian a firmness 
which Pepe had not attained ; therefore, instead of giving 
way to surprise, he remained perfectly calm. He knew that 
this was the only way to surmount any difficulty. 

“Yes,” said he, “ I understand what it is as well as if the 
Indians had told me. You spoke once of foxes smoked out of 
their holes ; now they want to burn us in ours.” 

The globe of fire which floated on the river advanced with 
alarming rapidity, and confirmed the words of Bois-Rose. 
Already amidst the water, reddened by the flame, the twigs 
of the willows were becoming distinct. 

“ It is a fire ship,” cried Pepe, “ with which they want to 
set fire to our island.” 

“ So much the better,” cried Fabian ; “ better to fight 
against the fire than wait quietly for death.” 

“Yes,” said Bois-Rose ; “but fire is a terrible adversary, 
and it fights for these demons.” 

The besieged could oppose nothing to the advancing 
flames ; and they would soon devour the little island, leaving 
to its inmates no other chance of escape but by throwing 
themselves into the water — where the Indians could either 
kill them by rifle-shots, or take them alive, as they pleased. 

Such had been the idea of the Indian messenger. By his 
order, the Apaches had cut down a tree with its leaves on, 
and a thick mass of wet grass interlaced in its branches 
formed a sort of foundation, on which they placed the 
branches of a pine tree ; and after setting fire to this construc- 
tion, they had sent it floating down the stream. As it ap- 
proached, the crackling of the wood could be heard ; and out 


A FEAT OF HERCULEAN STRENGTH. 


333 


of the black smoke which mixed with the fog arose a bright, 
clear flame. 

Not far from the bank they could distinguish the form of 
an Indian. Pepe could not resist a sudden temptation. 
“ You demon,” cried he, “ shall at least not live to exult over 
our death.” 

So saying, he fired and the plume of the Indian was seen 
to go down. 

“ Sad and tardy vengeance,” remarked Bois-Rose ; and as if, 
indeed, the Apaches disdained the efforts of a vanquished foe, 
the shore preserved its gloomy solitude, and not a single howl 
accompanied the last groans of the warrior. 

“ N ever mind,” cried Pepe, stamping his foot in his impo- 
tent fury ; “ I shall die more calmly, the greater number of 
those demons I have sent before me.” And he looked round 
for some other victim. 

Meanwhile Bois-Rose was calmly reconnoitring the burning 
mass, which, if it touched the island, would set fire to the 
dried trees which composed it. 

“Well,” cried Pepe, whose rage blinded his judgment, 
“ it is useless to look at the fire ; have you any method of 
making it deviate from its course ?” 

“ Perhaps,” replied the Canadian. Pepe began to whistle 
with an affected indifference. 

“ I see something that proves to me that the reasonings of 
the Indians are not always infallible; and if it were not that 
we shall receive a shower of balls, to force us to stay hidden 
while the islet takes fire, I should care as little for that burn 
ing raft as for a fire-fly in the air.” 

In constructing the floating fire, the Indians had calculated 
its thickness, so that the wet grass might be dried by the 
fire and become kindled about the time when it should touch 
the island. But the grass had been soaked in the water, and 
this had retarded its combustion; besides the large branches 


834 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


had not had time to inflame ; it was only the smaller boughs 
and the leaves that were burning. This had not escaped the 
quick eye of the Canadian, who, advancing with a long stick 
in his hand, resolved to push it under water; but just as he 
was about to risk this attempt, what he had predicted took 
•■‘lace. A shower of balls and arrows flew towards them ; 
though these shots seemed rather intended to terrify than to 
kill them. 

“ They are determined,” said Bois-Rose, “ only to take us 
alive !” 

The fire almost touched the island, a few minutes and it 
would be alight, when with the rapidity of lightning, Bois- 
Rose glided into the water and disappeared. Shouts rose 
from each side of the river, when the Indians, as well as 
Fabian and Pepe, saw the floating mass tremble under his 
powerful grasp. The fire blazed up brightly for a moment, 
then the water hissed and the mass of flame was extinguished 
in foam, until darkness and fog once more spread their som- 
bre covering over the river. The blackened tree, turned 
from its course, passed by the island, while, amidst the howls 
of the Indians Bois-Rose rejoined his friends. The whole 
Island shook under his efforts to get back upon it. 

“ Howl at your ease,” cried he, “ you have not captured 
us yet ; but,” he added, in a more serious tone, “ shall we be 
always as lucky ?” 

Indeed, although this danger was surmounted, how many 
remained to be conquered ! Who could foresee what new 
stratagems the Indians might employ against them ? These 
reflections damped their first feeling of triumph. All at once 
Pepe started up, crying out as he did so : 

“ Bois-Rose, Fabian, we are saved !” 

“ Saved !” said Bois-Rose, “ what do you mean 

“Did you not remark how a few hours ago the whole islet 
trembled under our hands when we tore away some branches 


A FEAT OF HERCULEAN STRENGTH. 


335 


to fortify ourselves with, and how you yourself made it 
shake just now? well, I thought once of making a raft, hut 
now I believe we three can uproot the whole island and 
set it floating. The fog is thick, the night dark, and to-mor- 
row ” 

“We shall be far from here!” cried Bois-Rose. “ Tc 
work ! to work ! we have no time to spare, for the rising 
wind indicates the approach of morning, and the river does 
not run more than three knots an hour.” 

“ So much the better, the movement will be less visible.” 

The brave Canadian grasped the hands of his comrades as 
he rose to his feet. 

“ What are you going to do ?” said Fabian, “ cannot we 
three uproot the island, as Pepe said ?” 

“ Doubtless, Fabian, but we risk breaking it in pieces, and 
our safety depends upon keeping it together. It is, perhaps, 
some large branch or root which holds it in its place. Many 
years must have elapsed since these trees were first driven 
here, and the water has probably rendered this branch or 
root very rotten — that is what I wish to find out.” 

At that moment the doleful screech of an owl interrupted 
them, and those plaintive cries troubling the silence of night, 
just as they were about to entertain some hope, sounded 
ominous in the ears of Pepe. 

“ Ah !” said he, sadly, all his superstition reviving, “ the 
voice of the owl at this moment seems to me to announce no 
good fortune to us.” 

“ The imitation is perfect, I allow,” said Bois-Rose, “ but 
you must not be thus deceived. It is an Indian sentinel who 
calls to his companions, either to warn them to be watchful, 
or what is more like their diabolical spirit, to remind us that 
they are watching us. It is a kind of death song with which 
they wish to regale us.” 

As he spoke, the same sound was repeated from the oppo 


336 


THE WOOD-EAXGEUS. 


site bank with different modulations, confirming his words, 
but it sounded none the less terrible as it revealed all the 
perils and ambushes hidden by the darkness of the night. 

“ I have a great mind to call to them to roar more like 
tigers that they are.” v 

“ Do not ; it would only enable them to know our exact 
position.” 

So saying, the Canadian entered the water with extreme 
care, while his comrades followed his movements with anx- 
ious eyes. 

“Well,” said Pepe, when Bois-Rose came to the surface 
to take breath, “ are we firmly fixed ?” 

“ All is well, I think,” replied Bois-Rose, “ I see at pre- 
sent but one thing that keeps the islet at anchor. Have pa- 
tience awhile.” 

“ Take care not to get too far under,” said Fabian, “ or 
you may be caught in the roots and branches.” 

“ Have no fear, child ; a whale may sooner remain fixed 
to a fishing-boat which it can toss twenty feet into the air, 
than I under an islet that I could break to pieces with a 
blow.” 

The river closed again over his head, and a tolerably long 
space of time elapsed during which the presence of Bois- 
Rose was indicated only by the eddies formed round the 
islet, which now tottered on its foundation. His comrades 
felt that the giant was making a powerful effort, and Fabian’s 
heart sank as he thought that he might be struggling with 
death ; when a crash was heard under their feet, like that of 
a ship’s timbers striking against a rock, and Bois-Rose 
reappeared above the surface, his hair streaming with water. 
With one bound he regained the island, which began to 
move slowly down the river. An enormous root, some 
depth in the water, had given way to the vigorous strength 
of the colossus, and the islet was set free. 


THE FLOATING ISLET. 


337 


“God be praised!” cried he, “the last obstacle is van- 
quished and we are afloat.” As he spoke the island could 
be perceived advancing down stream, slowly it is true, but 
surely. 

“ Now,” continued he, “ our life rests in the hands of God. 
If the island floats down the middle of the stream we shall 
soon, thanks to the fog, be out of sight or reach of the 
Indians. “ Oh ! my God,” added he, fervently, “ a few hours 
more of darkness and your creatures will be saved.” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE FLOATING ISLET. 

The three men kept silence as they followed with anxious 
eyes the movement of the floating island. Day would soon 
break, but the freshness of the night, which always increases 
an hour or two before sunrise, had condensed more and more 
the vapours which rose from the water. The fires on the 
bank appeared only like stars, which grow pale in the hea- 
vens at the approach of dawn. From this source, therefore, 
they had little to fear ; but another danger menaced the 
three hunters. The island followed the stream, but turned 
round as it went, and they feared that in this continual rota- 
tion it might deviate from the centre of the river and strike 
on one of the banks on which the Indians were encamped. 

Like th^ sailor who. with a heart full of anguish, follows 
the movements of his ship, almost disabled by the storm, and 
contemplates with terror the breakers into which he is per- 
haps destined to be driven, thus the three hunters — a prey 
to the most cruel anxiety — regarded in silence the uncertain 

15 


838 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


progress of tlieir island. When sometimes the border of 
osiers and reeds which surrounded the island trembled in the 
breeze which proceeded from one of the banks, it seemed 
then to be driven towards the opposite side. Sometimes it 
went straight along with the current, but in any event, the 
efforts of those who were on it could do nothing to direct 
it. Luckily the fog was so thick that the very trees which 
bordered the river were invisible. 

“ Courage,” muttered Pepe ; “ as long as we cannot see 
the trees it is a sign that we are going on rightly. Ah ! if 
God but favour us, many a howl will resound along these 
banks, now so peaceful, when at daybreak the Indians find 
neither the island nor those it sheltered.” 

“ Yes,” replied Bois-Rose, “ it was a grand idea, Pepe : 
in the trouble of my mind I should not have thought of it, 
and yet it was such a simple thing.” 

“ Simple ideas are always the last to present themselves,” 
rejoined Pepe. “ But do you know, Bois-Rose,” added he, 
in a low voice, w it proves that in the desert it is imprudent 
to venture with one whom you love more than life, since fear 
for him takes away a man’s senses. I tell you frankly, Bois- 
Rose, you have not been like yourself.” 

w It is true ; I scarcely recognize myself,” replied the Cana- 
dian, simply ; “ and yet ” 

He did not finish, but fell into a profound reverie, during 
which, like a man whose body only is present, and his soul 
absent, he appeared no longer to v r atch the movements of 
the island. For the hunter who, during twenty years has 
lived the free life of the desert, to renounce this life seemed 
like death ; but to renounce the society of Fabian, and the 
consolation of having his eyes closed by his adopted ion, was 
still worse than death. Fabian and the desert were the tw r o 
dominant affections of his life, and to abandon eithei seemed 


impossible. 


THE FLOATING ISLET. 


339 


His reverie, however, was soon interrupted by Pepe, who 
Dad for some minutes been casting uneasy glances towards 
one of the banks. Through the fog he fancied he could per- 
ceive the fantastic forms w r hich trees appear to take in a mist. 
They looked like indistinct phantoms, covered with long dra- 
peries, hanging over the river. 

“We are going wrong, Bois-Rose,” said he; “are not 
those the tops of the willows on the bank ?” 

“ It is true,” cried Bois-Rose, rousing himself; “ and by 
the fires being still visible it is evident how little progress we 
have made in the last half hour.” 

At that moment the island began to move more rapidly, 
and the trees became more distinct. The hunters looked 
anxiously at each other. One of the fires was more clearly 
seen, and they could even distinguish an Indian sentinel in 
his frightful battle-costume. The long mane of a bison 
covered his head, and above that waved a plume of fea- 
thers. Bois-Rose pointed him out to Pepe, but luckily the 
fog was so thick that the Indian, rendered himself visible by 
the fire, near which he stood, could not yet see the island. 
However, as if an instinct had warned him to be watchful, 
he raised his head and shook back the flowing hair which 
ornamented it. 

“ Can he have any suspicion ?” said Bois-Rose. 

“ Ah ! if a rifle made no more noise than an arrow, with 
what pleasure I should send that human buffalo to mount 
guard in another world,” replied Pepe. 

Just then they saw the Indian stick his lance in the ground, 
and leaning forward, shade his eyes with his hands, so as to 
concentrate their power. A keen anxiety was in their hearts 
as they watched him. The ferocious warrior bending down 
like a wild beast ready to spring, his face half covered with 
the straggling hair, was hideous and terrible to look upon ; 
but the fugitives would only have laughed at the spectacle 


S40 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


had they not had so much to dread. All at once, the Apache, 
after remaining a few minutes in this attentive attitude, 
walked towards the bank and disappeared from sight — for 
nothing was visible except in the circle of light thrown by 
the fire. It was a moment of intense anxiety for the fugi- 
tives, as the island continued to glide silently on. 

u Has he seen us ?” murmured Pepe. 

“ I fear so.” 

A doleful cry now caused them to start. It was repeated 
from the opposite side ; it was the signal of the sentinels one 
to the other, but all became again silent. Bois-Rose uttered 
a murmur of relief, as he saw the man return to his former 
place and attitude. It was a false alarm. 

“ Still the island continued to approach the bank. 

“ At this rate,” said Bois-Rose, “ in ten minutes we shall 
fall into the hands of the Indians. If we could but paddle a 
little with that great branch, we should soon be in the right 
direction again, but the noise, I fear, would betray us.” 

“Nevertheless,” replied Pepe, “it is what we must do, it 
is better to run the chance of betraying ourselves, than be 
drifted into the hands of our enemies. But first, let us see if 
the current in which we now are, runs towards the bank. 
If it does, we must hesitate no longer, and although the 
branch of a tree is more noisy in the water than an oar, we 
must do our best to paddle in silence.” 

Pepe then gently broke off a piece of wood and placed it 
on the water, and leaning over the edge, he and Bois-Rose 
watched it anxiously. There was in that place a violent 
eddy, caused by some deep hole in the bed of the river. 
For a moment the wood turned round as though going to 
Bink, then it took a direction opposite to the bank, towards 
which they were driving. Both uttered a stifled exclamation 
of joy, as their island also, after a moment’s stoppage, began 
V> float away from the shore, and the increasing thickness 


THE FLOATING ISLET. 


341 


of the fog assured them that they were taking the right 
course. 

About an hour passed thus, amidst poignant alternatives 
of fear and hope ; then the bivouac fires were lost in the dis- 
tance, and the fugitives perceived that they were nearly out 
of danger. Reassured by this belief, Bois-Rose placed him- 
self at one end of the islet, and paddled vigorously, until trie 
raft, ceasing to gyrate, advanced more swiftly down the cur- 
rent, like a horse long abandoned to his own caprices, who 
feels at last the hand and spur of an able rider. Keeping 
where the water was deepest, they now proceeded at a con- 
siderable rate of speed, and began to think themselves 
entirely out of danger. 

“ Daylight will not be long in appearing,” said Bois-Rose, 
“ and we must now land and endeavor to get on faster ; we 
shall go twice as fast on foot as on this island, which sails 
slower than a Dutch lugger.” 

“ Well ! land where you like, Bois-Rose, and we will fol- 
low. Let us wade down the stream a bit, so as to hide our 
traces from the Indians ; and even if we have to carry the 
wounded man, we can manage two leagues an hour. Do 
you think, Don Fabian, that the Golden Valley is far off?” 

“ You saw the sun go down behind the foggy mountains 
which shut in this valley,” replied Fabian. “ It lies at their 
foot — we cannot be many hours’ march from it.” 

' Bois-Rose now gave to the island an oblique direction, and 
in about a quarter of an hour, it struck violently against the 
bank. While Pepe and Fabian jumped ashore, the Cana- 
dian took the wounded man in his arms, and laid him gentle 
down. This awoke him, and opening his eyes and throwing 
round him an astonished glance, he murmured, “Virgen 
Santa ! shall I again hear those frightful howls which trou- 
bled my sleep ?” 

“No, my lad, the Indians are far off now, and we are in 


342 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


safety. Thank God, who has permitted me to save all that 
are dear to me — my child Fabian and my old friend.” 

They then prepared to continue their course. 

“ If you are not able to walk,” said Pepe to Gayferos, “ we 
shall construct a kind of litter to carry you on. We have no 
time to lose if we wish to escape these wretches, who, as 
soon as daylight appears, will begin to chase us as eagerly as 
ever they chased a white enemy.” 

So great was the desire of Gayferos to escape, that he 
almost forgot the pain he was enduring, and declaring that 
he would follow his liberators as quickly as they could go 
themselves, he begged them to set off at once. 

“We have some precautions to take first,” said Bois-Rose ; 
“ rest a few minutes while we break to pieces and commit 
to the current this raft, which has been so useful to us. 
It is important that the Indians should not trace us.” 

All three set to work, and already disjointed by the 
breaking of the root which held it, and by the shock it had 
received on touching the shore, the floating island opposed 
no great resistance to their efforts. The trunks of the trees 
which composed it, were torn asunder and pushed into the 
current — which carried them quickly away — and there soon 
remained no vestige of what it had taken years to construct. 
When the last branch had disappeared from their eyes, Bois- 
Rose and Pepe busied themselves in raising up the stalks of 
the plants, to efface the marks of their feet, and then all pre- 
pared to start. They first entered the water and walked 
along the edge, so as to leave no footmarks, and to lead the 
Indians to suppose that they had remained on the island. 
It was too fatiguing for them to walk very quickly ; but, in 
about an hour, just as their wounded feet were about to force 
them to make halt, they arrived at the fork of two rivers 
which formed a delta. In this delta lay the Golden Valley. 
Daylight was just beginning to appear in the horizon, and a 


THE FLOATING ISLET. 


543 


grey tint upon the sky was taking the place of darkness. 
Luckily the arm of the river that they had to cross was not 
deep, the mass of the water flowing in the opposite direction. 
This was fortunate, for the wounded man could not swim 
Bois-Rose lifted him on his shoulders, and all three waded 
through the water which scarcely reached to their knees. 
The chain of mountains was only about a league off, and aftei 
a short rest, all resumed their way with renewed ardour. 

Soon the country changed its aspect. To the fine sand — 
for the triangle formed by the junction of the two rivers was 
inundated during part of the year — succeeded deep ruts, 
and then dry bed of streams, hollowed out by the torrents 
in the rainy season. Instead of the narrow border of willows 
and cotton-trees which shaded the deserted banks, green 
oaks rose up, and the landscape terminated in the line of 
the foggy mountains. All looked strange and imposing, and 
rarely had the foot of a white man pressed this desert clothed 
in its virgin wildness. Perhaps Marcos Arellanos and 
Cuchillo were the only white men who had ever wandered 
to this remote place. A vague sentiment of awe caused the 
hunters involuntarily to lower their voices before the super- 
natural charm of this austere landscape. Those hills, 
enveloped in mist — even when the plains shone with the 
blazing rays of the sun — seemed to hide some impenetrable 
mystery. It might be fancied that the invisible guardians 
of the treasures, the lords of the mountains according 
to Indian superstition, were hidden un ;er this veil of eternal 
vapour. 


344 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

THE FINGER OF GOD. 

After a short journey, fatigue and suffering overcame the 
wounded man : and as it was imperative that he should not 
become acquainted with the situation of the Golden Yalley, 
or even be made aware of its existence, Bois-Rose and Pepe 
resolved, now that he was in safety, to leave him for some 
hours and employ the time in reconnoitring the places des- 
cribed to Fabian by his adopted mother. 

“ Listen, my lad !” said Bois-Rose to Gayferos, “ we have 
given you quite sufficient proofs of devotion, and now we 
must leave you for half or perhaps a whole day. We have 
some business in hand which requires three determined men ; 
if this evening or to-morrow morning we are still alive, you 
shall see us return : if not, you know it will not be our fault. 
Here is water and dried meat, and twenty-four hours will 
soon pass.” 

It was not without regret that Gayferos consented to this 
separation ; however, reassured by a new promise from the 
generous hunters, to whom he owed so much, he resigned 
himself to being left behind. 

“ I have one last word to say to you,” said Bois-Rose. 
“ If chance bring here any of the companions from whom you 
so unluckily separated, I exact from you, as the sole return 
for the service which we have rendered to you, that you 
will reveal to none of them our presence here. As for your 
own, you can account for it in any way you like.” 


THE FINGER OF GOD. 


345 


Gayferos made the required promise, and they then took 
leave of him. 

On the point of accomplishing one of his most aident 
desires, that of enriching the child of his affection and adding 
immense treasures to his future fortune, Bois-Rose seemed to 
forget that it would raise an additional barrier between 
Fabian and himself. 

Pepe, anxious to repair as far as possible the involuntary 
injury that he had caused to the Mediana family, walked 
along with an elastic step. Fabian alone did not seem 
happy, and after a quarter of an hour he stopped, saying that 
he needed rest. All three sat down on a little hillock, and 
Pepe, pointing to the mountains, cried, in a tone of gay 
reproach, “ What ! Don Fabian ! does not the neighbour- 
hood of those places, so fertile in gold, give new vigour to 
your limbs ?” 

“ N o,” replied Fabian, “ for I shall not go a step further 
in that direction till sunrise.” * 

“ Ah !” said Bois-Rose, “ and why not ?” 

“ Why ? Because this is a cursed place — a place where 
he — whom before you I loved as a father — was assassinated ; 
because a thousand dangers surround you, and I have already 
exposed you too much by making you espouse my cause.” 

“ What are these dangers that we three together cannot 
brave ? Can they be greater than what we have just passed 
through ? And if it please Pepe and I to incur them for 
you, what then ?” 

“These dangers are of all kinds,” replied Fabian, “why 
deceive oneself longer? Does not everything prove that 
Don Estevan knows also of the existence of the Golden 
Valley ?” 

“ Well, and what do you conclude from that ?” 

“ That three men cannot prevail against sixty.” 

“ Listen, my child,” replied Bois-Roso with some impatience, 

15 * 


346 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ it was before engaging in this enterprise that we should 
have made these reflections ; now they are too late, and why 
do you not think to-day as you did yesterday ?” 

“ Because yesterday I was blinded by passion ; because 
reflection has now taken its place ; because I do not hope to- 
day what I hoped yesterday.” 

The contradictory passions which agitated his heart did not 
permit Fabian to explain more clearly to the Canadian the 
alternations of his wishes. 

“ Fabian,” said Bois-Rose, solemnly, “ you have a holy but 
terrible duty to perform, and duty must be done ; but who 
tells you that the expedition commanded by Don Estevan 
will take the same path as ourselves ? And, if it does, so 
much the better ; the murderer of your mother will fall into 
your hands.” 

“ The guide conducting them,” replied Fabian, seeking to 
hide his real sentiments, “can only be that miserable 
Cuchillo. Now, if I am not W'rong, the valley must be 
known to him ; in any case, w r e should await the return of 
daylight before entangling ourselves in a country w T e know 
nothing about, and in which these adventurers may prove 
enemies as formidable as the Indians. Do you not think so, 
Pepe ?” 

“Nearly all night, the wind has brought to our ears,” 
replied he, “ the sound of firing, which proves that the troop 
has been engaged with the Indians ; it is not therefore pro- 
bable that any one can be in advance of us. I must say that 
my opinion is, that we should without loss of time gain 
some place in the mountains where w r e may engage in a last 
inevitable struggle with our enemies ; some well chosen spot 
where we can defend ourselves with a chance of success.” 

“It is this unequal struggle that I wish to avoid,” replied 
Fabian, warmly. “As long as I could hope to overtake, 
before they reached Tubac, those whom Providence seemed 


THE FINGER OF GOD. 


347 


to point out for my vengeance, and attack them while they 
were only five against three, I pursued them without reflec- 
tion ; as long as I could believe that this expedition had, like 
so many others, entered the desert only in search of some 
unknown spot, I followed them. But what has happened ? 
After four days in which we took a different path, do we not 
find them near these mountains ? Their aim is therefore the 
same as ours. Three men cannot fight against sixty ; there- 
fore God forbid that to further either my vengeance or my 
cupidity, I should sacrifice two generous friends whose lives 
are more precious to me than my own !”* 

“ Child,” said Bois-Rose, “ do you not see that every one 
is here for himself, and yet that our three interests are but 
one ? When for the second time, God sent you to my arms, 
were we not already pursuing the man who was ruining your 
hopes, and had already assassinated your mother, and stolen 
your name ? For ten years Pepe and I have been but one ; 
the friends of one have been the friends of the other, and 
you are Pep6’s son, because you are mine, Fabian my child ; 
and thanks be to God that in serving our own cause we are 
also serving yours. Whatever happens, then we shall not 
take a step backwards.” 

“ Besides,” said Pepe, “ do you count for nothing, Don 
Fabian, heaps of gold, and a whole life of abundance for an 
imaginary peril? for I repeat we must reach the valley first, 
and a day — an hour — in advance, may enrich us forever ; you 
see then that we are egotists trying to sacrifice you to our 
personal interest.” 

“ Pepe is right,” said Bois-Rose, “ we want gold.” 

“ What will you do with it ?” asked Fabian, smiling. 

“ What will I do with it ? the child asks what I will do 
with it !” cried Bois-Rose. 

“ Yes, I wish to know.” 

“ What will I do with it ?” replied the honest Canadian 


348 


THE WOOD-R ANGERS. 


whom this question embarrassed much, “ parbleu — I will do 
— many things, I will give my rifle a golden barrel,” cried he, 
triumphantly. 

Pepe smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You laugh,” said Bois-Rose. “Do you think that when 
you finish off an Apache, a Sioux, or a Pawnee with a blow 
of your knife, it would not be grand to say to him, 4 Dog, 
the ball that broke your head came from a rifle of solid gold !’ 
Few hunters can say as much.” 

“ I agree to that,” said Fabian ; then added he, seriously, 
“ No, my friends ! Don Estevan escapes my vengeance, and 
the gold that I believed would be mine escapes me also, for 
it is surrounded by soldiers. What matters ? have I not 
still, if I should become ambitious, the name and fortunes of 
my forefathers to reclaim ? Are there not in Spain tribunals 
which dispense justice to all ? God will do the rest, but I 
will not madly expose two noble lives. I do not speak of 
mine ; young as I am, I have drunk the cup of bitterness to 
the dregs. You have done enough, and your generous subter- 
fuges cannot impose upon me.” 

So saying, Fabian held out his hands to the two hunters, 
who pressed them in an affectionate grasp. The Canadian 
looked silently for a minute at the noble face of him whom he 
was proud to call his son, and then said : 

“ Fabian, my child, all my life has been passed on the sea 
or in deserts, but I have preserved sufficient remembrance of 
cities and their customs to know that justice is rather sold 
than given. This gold we shall employ in making of you 
what you were intended to be ; this gold, wffil smooth all the 
obstacles against which your rightful cause might break 
down. Pepe, can tell you, like me, that we shall gladly ex- 
pose our lives in the hope of restoring to you the property 
of your ancestors, and the illustrious name that you are so 
worthy to bear.” 


THE FINGER OF GOD. 


349 


“ Yes,” said Pepe, “ I have told you that the early part of 
my life was not such as I should wish. It was a little the 
fault of the Spanish Government, which never paid me for my 
services ; still it is a weight upon my heart. Often, I think 
sadly of my past life, but God always pardons the repentant 
sinner, and gives him opportunity of repentance. That 
day has arrived; my pardon is near, and it is but justice 
that I should assist in restoring to you what I helped to take 
away.” 

“ Let us go on then !” said Bois-Rose, “ God has hitherto 
shown us our path and will continue to aid us. If you stay, 
Fabian, we shall go alone.” 

So saying, the Canadian rose, and throwing his rifle over 
his shoulder began his march. Fabian was forced to yield, 
and all proceeded towards the mountains. 

Daylight had not yet quite appeared when a new actor 
advanced in his turn towards the same scenes. He came 
alone ; his horse in its impetuous course made the sand fly 
under his feet, and the rider, who was no other than Cuchillo, 
showed symptoms on his sinister countenance of some secret 
terror. His flight might not have been unobserved even in 
the tumult of action, or some of the Indians might have 
noticed his desertion, and hence his fears. But Cuchillo was 
not a man to undertake a bold stroke without calculating the 
chances. As the hunter wishing to take the lion’s whelps, 
throws him some bait to distract his attention, so Cuchillo 
had delivered to the lords of the desert, his companions as a 
prey. He had calculated that the struggle would last a great 
part of the night, and that conquered or conquering, the 
adventurers would not dare, during the following day, tc 
leave their intrenchments. He would therefore have long 
hours before him in which to seize on some of the treasures 
of the Golden Yalley, with which he would afterwards 
return to the protection of his companions, and when they 


350 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


ill reached the place he could still claim his share as soldier 
and as guide. Pretexts would not fail him for this second 
absence, but he had forgotten to calculate on Don Estevan’a 
suspicions concerning him. To conclude his bargain with 
him he had been forced to give such a precise account of the 
situation of the valley that Don Estevan could scarcely miss 
the right road. After Cuchillo, followed by his horse, had 
glided out from the camp he had ridden straight towards the 
mountains, and cupidity, the most blinding of passions, had 
closed his eyes to the danger of his plan. 

His heart palpitating with alternate hopes and fears, he 
had advanced rapidly, and only stopped occasionally to listen 
to the vague murmurs of the desert. Then recognisng the 
groundlessness of his apprehensions, he had continued his 
road with renewed ardour. 

Sometimes also the aspect of the places he had seen before, 
awakened gloomy souvenirs. On that hillock, he had rested 
with Marcos Arellanos ; that nopal had furnised them with 
refreshing fruit ; they had both contemplated with mysterious 
terror the strange aspect of the Misty Mountains, and his 
horse in its rapid course carried the murderer to the spot 
where his victim had fallen beneath his blows ! Then to the 
fear of enemies succeeded that inspired by conscience, -which 
while it often sleeps by day, awakes and resumes its empire 
during the night. The bushes — the thorny nopals — rose 
before him like accusing phantoms, opposing his advance with 
extended arms ; a cold perspiration stood on his brow, but 
cupidity, stronger than fear, spurred him on towards the val- 
ley and he began to laugh at his own apprehensions. 

“Phantoms,” said he, “are like alcaldes, w r ho never ad- 
dress poor devils like me ; but let me only get one or two 
tirrobas of gold, and I shall have so many masses said for the 
soul of Arellanos, that he will be glad to have met his death 
at such generous hands.” 


THE FIKGEK OF GOP. 


851 


He laughed at this quaint conceit, and then rode on quickly, 
In a few minutes he stopped and listened again, but heard no 
noise save the loud breathing of his horse. 

“ I am alone,” thought he ; “ those brutes whom I have 
guided are fighting to give me leisure to despoil the sands 
of some of that precious gold. Who is to prevent me pre- 
sently, when daylight appears, from picking up as much as I 
can carry without betraying my secret ? This time, it will 
not be as when along with Arellanos ; I shall not have to fly 
from the Indians : they are busy. Afterwards I can come 
back with such of my companions as escape the Apaches, 
tjpw many will remain to partake with me? Oh! the 
thought of these treasures makes the blood boil in my veins. 
Is it not gold that gives glory, pleasure, and every good of 
this world ? our priests say its power extends even beyond 
the tomb !” 

While Cuchillo was advancing blindly to where his destiny 
led him, Don Estevan and Pedro Diaz were also on their 
way. Although the hills were but six leagues from the camp, 
yet, uncertain of the time of his absence, Don Estevan had left 
orders to his people to await his return. The two advanced 
silently, full of desire for the gold, but equally desirous of 
intercepting the traitor. Two hours’ quick riding had pro- 
duced no result. Thanks to his advance, Cuchillo was in- 
visible ; and the darkness would have hidden his track even 
from the eye of an Indian. 

“ There is no doubt,” said Pedro Diaz, breaking silence, 
“ that the knave must have profited by the confusion to fly 
towards the valley, and seize on a part of the treasures which 
he has sold to us.” 

« That is not what I fear most,” said Don Estevan. “ If 
Cuchillo has not exaggerated the riches of the place, there 
will be plenty left for all of ujs. But now so near attaining 
that for which I have crossed the desert — after having left a 


352 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


position envied by all, to brave the dangers of an expedition 
like this — a vague fear of failing agitates me. The desert is like 
the sea, abounding in pirates, and the soul of Cuchillo is full 
of treason : it seems to me that the villain will be fatal to us.’ 

Suddenly Diaz dismounted, and picked up off the sand a 
dark object; it was a kind of valise, which Diaz at once 
recognized as belonging to Cuchillo. 

“This shows you, Senor,” said he, “that we are in the 
right path, and that the coming day will bring us into the 
presence of the traitor.” 

“ It shall then be his last treason,” said Don Estevan ; and 
they now rode silently on with the certainty that Cuchillo 
was before them. 

Strange chain of coincidences ! When the sun appeared 
in the horizon, the different actors in this drama, apparently 
drawn together by accident, but in truth impelled onwards 
by the hand of God, had met in the most inaccessible part of 
the great American desert. 


CHAPTER XL VI. 

THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 

The darkness was no longer that of midnight — the out- 
lines of the different objects began to be visible, and the 
peaks of the hills looked like domes or fantastic turrets in the 
half-light. Detached from the mass of the mountains, a rock 
in the form of a truncated cone towered up like an outwork. 
A cascade fell noisily from an adjacent hill into a deep gulf 
below, and in front of the rock a row of willows and cotton- 
trees indicated the neighbourhood of a stream. Then the 


T1IE GOLDEN VALLEY. 


353 


immense plain of the delta formed by the two arms of the 
Rio Gila (which from east to west cuts for itself a double pas- 
sage through the chain of the Misty Mountains) displayed 
itself in all its sombre majesty. Such were the striking points 
of the landscape which opened before the travellers. 

Soon the blue light of morning replaced the darkness, and 
the summits of the hills one by one became visible. On the 
top of the rock two pines could now be seen, their bending 
stems and dark foliage extending over the abyss. At their 
foot the skeleton of a horse, held up by hidden fastenings, 
showed upon his whitened bones the savage ornaments with 
which he had been embellished, and fragments of the saddle 
still rested upon his back. The increasing light soon shone 
on more sinister emblems : on posts raised in different places, 
and human scalps floating on them. These hideous trophies 
indicated the burial-place of an Indian warrior. In fact a 
renowned chief reposed there ; and his spirit overlooked, like 
the genius of plunder, those plains where his war-cry had so 
often resounded, and which he had ridden over on that 
battle-horse whose bones were whitening by his tomb. Birds 
of prey flew over his grave, uttering their shrill cries, as if 
they would awaken him who slept there for ever, and whose 
cold hand would no longer prepare for them their bloody 
feasts. 

A few minutes later the horizon became tinted with pale 
rose-coloured clouds, and soon after, like the first spark of a 
fire, a ray of sun-light struck like a golden arrrow on the 
thick fog, and floods of light inundated the depths of the 
valley. Day had come in all its glory, but wreaths of vapour 
still hung capriciously on the leaves of the trees or clung 
around the trunks. Soon were displayed wild precipices, 
with falls of water foaming down their sides ; then deep 
defiles, at the entrance of which fantastic offerings of Indian 
superstition were suspended. 


354 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Above the tomb of the Indian chief rose the spray of the 
cascade, in which was reflected the colours of the rainbow ; 
and lastly, a valley was visible, closed on one side by peaked 
rocks, from which hung long draperies of verdure, and on 
the other by a lake, whose waters were half-hidden by the 
aquatic plants on its surface : this was the Golden Yalley. 

At the first glance the whole scene only offered the sombre 
features of a wild nature ; but the scrutinizing eye would 
soon have divined the treasures concealed there. Nothing 
betrayed the presence of living things in that deserted place, 
when the three hunters made their appearance on the spot. 

“ If the devil has an abode anywhere on the earth,” said 
Pepe, pointing to the mountains, “ it must surely be among 
those wild defiles ! 

“ But if it be true,” continued he, “ that it is gold which 
is the cause of most crimes, it is more probable that the old 
fellow has chosen the Golden Yalley for his abode, which con- 
tains, according to you, Don Fabian, enough to ruin an 
entire generation.” 

“You are right,” said Fabian, who looked pale and grave, 
“ it was here perhaps that the unlucky Marcos Arellanos was 
assassinated. Ah ! if this place could speak, I should know 
the name of him whom I have sworn to pursue : but the 
wind and the rain have effaced the traces of the victim as 
well as those of the murderer.” 

“ Patience, my child !” replied Bois-Rose ; “ I have never in 
the course of a long life known crime to go unpunished. 
Often we recover the traces that were believed to have been 
long effaced, and even solitude sometimes raises its voice 
against the guilty. If the assassin be not dead, cupidity will 
doubtless bring him again to this place, and before long ; for 
no doubt he is one of those in the Mexican camp. Now, 
Fabian, shall we wait for the enemy here, or shall we fill our 
pockets with gold, and return ?” 


THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 


355 


“I know not what to decide,” replied Fabian; “I came 
here almost against my will. I obey your wishes, or else a 
will stronger than either yours or mine. I feel that an 
invisible hand impels me on — as it did on that evening when, 
scarcely knowing what I did, I came and sat down by your 
fire. Why should I, who do not know what to do with this 
gold, risk my life to obtain it ? I know not. I know only 
that here I am, with a sad heart and a soul filled with cruel 
uncertainty.” 

“ Man is but the plaything of Providence, it is true,” said 
Bois-Rose ; “ but as for the sadness you feel, the aspect of 
these places sufficiently accounts for it ; and as for 

A hoarse cry, that scarcely appeared human, interrupted 
the Canadian. It seemed to come from the Indian tomb, as 
if it were an accusing voice against the invaders of this abode 
of the dead. The three hunters glanced simultaneously 
towards the tomb, but no living creature was visible there. 
The eye of one of the birds of prey, that were sailing above 
the rock, could alone have told where the cry came from. 
The imposing solemnity of the place, the bloody souvenirs 
evoked by it in Fabian’s mind, and the superstitious ones in 
that of Pepe, joined to the strange and mysterious sound, 
inspired in both a feeling akin to terror. There was some- 
thing so inexplicable in the sound, that for a moment they 
doubted having heard it. 

“ Is it really the voice of a man ?” said Bois-Rose, “ or 
only one of those singular echoes which resound in these 
mountains ?” 

“If it were a human voice,” asked Fabian, “ where did it 
come from ? it seemed to be above us, and yet I see no one 
on the top of the hill !” 

“God send,” said Pepe, crossing himself, “that in these 
mountains which abound in inexplicable noises, and where 
lightning shines under a calm sky, we have only men to 


050 


THE AVOOD-R ANGERS. 


fight against ! But if the fog contained a legion of devils— 
if the valley really contains, as you say, several years’ income 
of the king of Spain, please, Seiior Don Fabian, to recall 
your recollections, and tell us if we are still far off it.” 

Fabian threw a glance around him ; the landscape was 
just what had been so minutely described to him. 

“ We must be close to the spot,” said he, “ for it should 
be at the foot of the tomb of the Indian chief — and these 
ornaments indicate that the rock is the tomb. We have no 
time to lose. You and Bois-Rose walk round the rock, 
while I go an^ examine those cotton-trees and willows.” 

“ I am suspicious of everything in this mysterious place,” 
said Bois-Rose ; “ that cry indicates the presence of a human 
being ; and whether white or red, he is to be feared. Before 
we separate, let me examine the sign” 

All three bent on the ground eyes accustomed to read 
there as in an open book. The prints of a man’s feet were 
visible on the sand, and one of them had trodden down the 
plants, whose stems were still gently rising up again one 
after the other. 

*' What did I tell you ?” cried Bois-Rose. “ Here are the 
tracks of a white man’s feet, and I swear it is not ten minutes 
since he was here. These footmarks lead towards yonder 
cotton-trees.” 

“ In any case he is alone,” suggested Fabian. 

All three were advancing towards the trees, when Bois- 
Rose halted. 

“Let me go first,” said he; “this hedge may hide the 
enemy. But no, the man who has left these footprints has 
only pulled open the vines and glanced through — he has not 
gone further in that direction.” 

So saying, Bois-Rose, in his turn, pulled aside the branches 
and the climbing net- work which was interwoven with 
them, and after a short examination, which had no particulai 


THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 


357 


result, he retired and left the branches to reclose of them* 
selves. He then tried to follow the tracks, but further on 
the ground became stony, and all traces disappeared. 

“ Let us go round this conical rock,” suggested Bois-Rose, 
“ Come, Pepe ; Fabian will wait here for us.” 

The two hunters strode off, and Fabian remained alone 
and pensive. This Golden Valley, of whose possession he 
had dreamt at that time when his heart nourished sweet 
hopes, was now near to him. What had been a dream was 
now a reality, and still he was more unhappy than at the 
time when hopeful love caused him to scoff at poverty. It 
is thus that happiness flies just as we are about to seize it. 
Sometimes in the silence of the forest, the traveller lends a 
greedy ear to the notes of the mocking-bird, and advances 
with precaution towards the place where, hidden under the 
foliage, the bird of the solitudes utters its sweet song. Vain 
hope I he advances, and the singer flies, his voice still as dis- 
tant and himself as invisible as ever ! Thus man often hears 
in the distance voices which sing to him of happiness ; 
seduced by their charm he rushes toward them ; but they 
fly at his approach ; and his whole life is passed in pursuing, 
without ever reaching, the happiness promised by these 
delusive sounds. 

For Fabian, happiness lay no longer in the Golden Valley. 
It existed nowhere. N o voice now sang for him ; he had 
no aim to pursue ; no flying but charming image which he 
hoped to overtake. He was in one of those moods that God 
in his mercy makes rare in our lives — during which all is 
dark, as when at sea the light that guides the sailor becomes 
suddenly obscured. 

He advanced mechanically towards the thick row of trees 
that formed an almost impenetrable hedge before him, but 
scarcely had he made a passage for himself when he stopped, 
motionless with surprise. The sunlight shone on the stones 


858 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. . 


thick as those on a beach, and discovered innumerable glanc* 
ing objects. Any other than a gold-seeker might have been 
deceived by these stones, which looked like vitrifications at 
the foot of a volcano; but the practised eye of Fabian 
instantly recognized the virgin gold under its clayey en- 
velope, as it is brought down by the torrents from the gold 
producing mountains. Before his eyes lay the richest trea- 
sure that was ever displayed to the view of man. 

If the breeze could have brought to the ears of the young 
Count of Mediana the accents of Rosarita’s voice, when she 
recalled him back to the hacienda, he would gladly have 
quitted all these treasures to run towards her. But the 
breeze was mute, and there is in gold so irresistible an 
attraction that Fabian, in spite of his sadness, was for the 
moment fascinated. 

However, the soul of Fabian was not one to be intoxicated 
by success ; and after a few minutes of this enthusiasm, he 
called his two companions. They came at his call. 

“ Have you found him ?” said Pepe. 

“ The treasure, but not the man. See !” added he, push 
ing aside the trees. 

“ What ! those shining stones !” 

“ Are pure gold — treasures which God has hidden during 
centuries.” 

“ My God !” exclaimed Pepe. 

And with ardent eyes fixed upon the mass of riches 
before him, the ex-carabinier fell upon his knees. Passions 
long kept under, seemed to rush back into his heart ; a com- 
plete transformation took place in him, and the sinister 
expression of his face, recalled to mind the hour of crime, 
when twonty years before he had bargained for the price of 
blood. 

“Now,” said Fabian, looking sadly at the gold, as he 
thought that all these riches ' were not worth to him a smile 


THE GOLDEN VALLEV. 


359 


or look from her who had disdained him, “I understand how 
these two rivers, in their annual rise, and by their torrents 
that descend from the Misty Mountains, covering this nar- 
row valley, bring down gold with them ; the position of this 
valley is perhaps unique in all the world.” 

But the Spaniard heard him not. Riches which the rough 
lesson he had received, and the life of independence and 
savage happiness he had enjoyed, had taught him during the 
last ten years to disdain — suddenly resumed their terrible 
influence over his soul. 

“You could not have imagined, could you, Pepe,” con- 
tinued Fabian, “that so much gold could be collected in one 
place ? I, who have been so long a gold-seeker, could not 
have imagined it, even after all I had heard.” 

Pepe did not reply ; his eye wandered eagerly over the 
blocks of gold, and cast a strange glance on Fabian and on 
Bois-Rose. The latter, standing in his favourite attitude, 
his arm resting on his rifle, amidst all these treasures, looked 
only at what was dearest to him — the young man restored to 
him by heaven. Pepe had before him, on one side, his old 
companion in danger — in a hundred different battles they 
nad uttered their war-cry together, like those brothers in 
arms in ancient chivalric times, who fought always under the 
same banner — who shared cold, hunger, and thirst together. 

On the other side, the young man, partly orphaned by his 
crime — a crime which had occasioned him remorse through 
so many years — the love and sole thought of his only friend 
in the world; and the demon of cupidity at his heart effaced 
all these souvenirs, and he already began to think — 

A shudder passed through his frame as strange thoughts 
crossed his mind. A struggle took place within him, a 
struggle of the feelings of youth with the more noble ones 
developed by the life of nature, where man seems brought 
near to God ; but this struggle was short : the old outlaw 


360 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


disappeared, and there remained only the man purified by 
repentance and solitude. Still kneeling on the ground, 
Pepe had closed his eyes, and a furtive tear, unperceived by 
his companions, stole from his eyes, and rolled down his 
bronzed cheeks. 

M Senor Don Fabian de Mediana 1” cried he, starting up, 
“ you are now a rich and powerful lord, for all this gold 
belongs to you alone.” 

So saying, he advanced and bowed respectfully to Fabian, 
who appeared somewhat surprised by the manner of his 
salutation. 

44 God forbid,” cried Fabian, 44 that you, who have shared 
the peril, should not share the treasure. What do you say, 
Bois-Rose ? do you not rejoice to become in your old age 
rich and powerful ?” 

But Bois-Rose, unmoved before all the riches, contented 
himself with shaking his head, while a smile of tenderness for 
Fabian testified to the only interest that he took in that mar- 
vellous spectacle ! 

“ I think like Pep6,” said he, after a pause, “ what could 
I do with this gold that the world covets ? If it has for us 
an inestimable value, it is because it is to belong to you ; the 
possession of the least of these stones would take away in 
our eyes from the value of the service we have rendered you. 
But the time for action has arrived ; for certainly we are not 
alone in these solitudes.” 

Pepe now began to pull aside the branches, but scarcely 
had he entered the valley when the sound of a gun was dis- 
tinctly heard. In a moment his voice reassured his anxious 
comrades.” 

44 It is the devil,” cried he, 44 forbiding us to encroach on 
his domains ; but at all events it is a devil whose aim is not 
infallible.” 

Before entering the valley Bois-Rose and Fabian raised 


THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 


361 


their eyes to the top of the hill, whence the shot as well as 
the voice had proceeded. But the remains of the fog at that 
moment covered the top of the rock, and all three rushed 
simultaneously towards the isolated mass where they believed 
their enemy to be hidden. The sides, although steep, were 
covered with brushwood, which rendered them easier to 
climb ; but it was a dangerous attempt, for the fog pre- 
vented them from seeing what enemies were above. Fabian 
wished to go first, but the vigorous arm of the Canadian held 
him back, and meanwhile Pepe was half-way towards the 
summit. Bois-Rose followed, begging Fabian to keep 
behind him. 

Pepe mounted boldly, undismayed by the foes that might 
be concealed behind that mass of vapour, and soon disap- 
peared under the mist. A cry of triumph soon warned his 
friends that he had arrived in safety. Both hastened to join 
him, but found no one on the rock except Pepe himself! J ust 
as, disappointed at their want of success, they were preparing 
to descend again, a sudden gust of wind drove off the fog, 
and allowed them to see to a distance. To the right and left 
the plain presented the most complete picture of the desert 
in its dreary sadness. They beheld arid steppes over which 
whirled clouds of sand, a burnt and sterile ground, every- 
where silence, everywhere solitude. At some distance off 
two men on horseback were seen advancing towards the 
rock, but at the distance at which they were, it was impossi- 
ble to distinguish either their dress or the colour of their 
skin. 

“ Must we sustain a new siege here ?” said Bois-Rose 
“ Are these white men or Indians ?” 

“ White or red, they are enemies,” said Pepe. 

While the three friends bent down, so as not to be ob- 
served, a man, until then invisible, cautiously entered the 
lake. lie lifted with care the floating leaves of the water 

16 


362 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


lilies, and forming of them a shelter over his head, remained 
motionless, and the surface of the lake soon after appeared 
as if undisturbed. This man was Cuchillo, the jackal, who, 
led by his evil destiny, had ventured to hunt on the ground 
of the lion. 


CHAPTER XLYII. 

THE PUNISHMENT OF TANTALUS. 

Cuchello, after reaching the mountains, had halted. He 
had not forgotten the appearance of the place, and his heart 
trembled with fear and joy. After a few minutes he looked 
around him more calmly. It was then dark, and when he 
arrived at the rock, the damp vapours from the lake enveloped 
with a thick veil both the valley and the tomb. The sound 
of the waterfall put an end to his uncertainties ; he remem- 
bered that it fell into a gulf close by the golden placer. 

He had dismounted his horse, and sat down to wait for 
daylight ; but scarcely had he done so when he bounded up 
as though bitten by a serpent. A fatal chance had led him 
to sit down on the very spot where he had struck Marcos 
Arellanos, and quick as lightning, every detail of the mortal 
struggle passed through his mind. However this feeling of 
terror was of short duration. 

In that part of America, superstition has not established 
its empire as in the old countries of Europe, where the even- 
ing mists give to objects fantastic aspects, and tend natu- 
rally to reflections upon the supernatural. From this arises 
the sombre poesy of the north, which has peopled our land 
v^th ghosts and phantoms. In the American solitudes peo- 
ple fear the living more than the dead, and Cuchillo had too 


THE PUNISHMENT OF TANTALUS. 


3tf3 


much to fear from men to waste many thoughts upon the 
ghost of Arellanos, and he had soon quite banished the 
thought from his mind. 

Although he felt nearly certain that no one had seen him 
leave the camp, or had followed him, he resolved to climb 
the rock and look out over the desert. The two pines, whose 
sombre verdure crowned the summit, appeared marvellously 
fit to shelter him from the eyes of the Indians should any be 
near. As he advanced, however, he could not resist taking 
a glance at the valley ; for a sudden fear took possession of 
his mind : was it still untouched as he had left it ? 

One glance reassured him. Nothing was changed in the 
valley ; there were still the heaps of the shining metal. 

The traveller, devoured with thirst in the sandy desert, 
does not more gladly catch sight of the oasis at whose waters 
he desires to drink than did Cuchillo the sight of the gold 
gleaming through the leaves of the trees. 

Any other man would have hastened to seize as much of it 
as he could carry, and make off with his booty. But with 
Cuchillo, cupidity was a passion carried to its utmost limits ; 
and before seizing it, the outlaw wished to feast his eyes on 
the treasure of which he had dreamed for two years, and for 
which he would not hesitate to sacrifice the lives of all hia 
companions. After some moments of ecstatic contemplation, 
Cuchillo led his horse forward by the bridle, and having tied 
him to a tree, in a defile where the animal would be hidden 
from all eyes, he himself mounted the rock. 

Arrived there, he looked around to assure himself that he 
was alone. He was soon satisfied, for at that moment neither 
of the other two parties were visible. Assured by the silence 
that reigned around, he looked towards the cascade. The 
water, which seemed as it fell to form a curve of running 
silver, opened at one place, and displayed a block of goF 
sparkling in the rays of the sun. The most enormous cocoa 


364 


THE WOOD-RANGERS 


nut that e^er hung on a tree did not surpass this block in 
size. Continually washed by the spray of the cascade, this 
gold appeared in all its brilliance, as if ready to escape from 
the silica which held it, and thus perhaps for centuries this 
king’s ransom had hung menacingly over the abyss ! 

At the sight of this block, which looked as though it might 
be seized by stretching out his hands, a thrill of joy passed 
through Cuchillo’s heart ; and hanging over the precipice 
with extended arms, he gave utterance to the cry which had 
been heard by the three hunters below. 

Soon, however, a spectacle, that Cuchillo was far from 
expecting to witness, drew from him another cry, but this 
time of rage. He had seen a man, possessor like himself of 
the secret of the valley, treading with profane foot on the 
treasure that he had believed wholly his. Bois-Rose and 
Fabian were hidden behind the trees ; and thinking that 
Pepe was alone, Cuchillo had fired at him, without taking 
time for a proper aim, and thus Pep6 had escaped the ball 
that whistled past him. 

It would be impossible to paint his rage and stupefaction, 
when hidden behind the pine trees, he saw two men join 
Pepe, especially when in one of them he recognized the terri- 
ble hunter whom he had seen engaged with the tigers at 
Poza, and in the other, Fabian, who had already twice escaped 
his vengeance. A mortal fear chilled his heart ; he almost 
fell to the ground. Must he again fly from that Golden 
Valley, from which fate seemed always to drive him ? 

Lucky for Cuchillo, the fog had hidden him from his ene- 
mies, and by the time they had reached the top he had 
descended on the opposite side — after having just caught a 
glance of Don Estevan and his companion in the distance. 
Here was a fresh subject of fear and surprise for Cuchillo, 
who, gliding like a serpent along the rocks, hid himself, as 
we have seen, amid the leaves of the water lilies, to await the 


THE PUNISHMENT OF TANTALUS. 


365 


denouement of this strange adventure. Hidden from all 
eyes, he held himself in readiness to profit by the approach- 
ing conflict between Don Estevan and Fabian, and a shudder 
of diabolical joy mingled with that caused by the gold ; he 
was like the rapacious bird which awaits the issue of the 
battle to seize upon its prey. If the three hunters were 
victorious he had little he thought to fear from Fabian, who 
w r as still in his eyes Tiburcio Arellanos. The lower class of 
Mexicans think little of a blow with the dagger, and he 
hoped that the one he had given might be pardoned, if he 
were to throw the blame upon Don Estevan. If this last 
remained master of the field, he trusted to find some plausible 
excuse for his desertion. He decided therefore upon letting 
them begin the struggle, and then, at the decisive moment, 
should come to the assistance of the strongest. 

While Cuchillo was endeavouring to console himself by 
these reasonings, Bois-Rose was able to distinguish the com- 
plexion of the new comers. 

“ They are from the Mexican camp,” said he. 

“ I foresaw,” said Fabian, “ that we should have the whole 
troop on our hands, and be caught like wild horses in a 
stockade.” 

“ Hush !” said Bois-Rose, “ and trust to me to protect you. 
Nothing yet shows that there are any others behind, and in 
any case we could not be better placed than on this rock ; 
from here we might defy a whole tribe of savages. Besides, 
we do not yet know that they will stop here. Both of you 
crouch down. I shall watch them.” 

So saying, he lay flat down, hiding his head behind the 
stones which surrounded the top like turrets, but without 
losing sight of the horsemen. They began now to hear the 
sound of the horses’ feet on the plain. The old hunter saw 
them stop and converse, but could not hear what they were 
saying. 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


800 

“ Why this halt, Diaz ?” said Don Estevan, impatiently, 
“ we have lost time enough already.” 

“ Prudence exacts that we should look about us before 
proceeding. The knave may be hidden about here, as we 
have tracked him up to the rock ; he -may not be alone, and 
we have everything to fear from him.” 

Don Estevan made a gesture of disdain. 

“Ah !” said Bois-Rose, in a low voice, “I recognize Don 
Estevan, or rather Don Antonio de Mediana, who is at last 
in our power.” 

“ Don Antonio de Mediana ! Is it possible ? Are you 
sure ?” cried Fabian. 

“ It is he, I tell you.” 

“Ah! now I see that it was the hand of God which 
brought me here. Shade of my mother, rejoice !” cried 
Fabian. 

Pepe kept silence, but at the name of Don Antonio, hatred 
shone also in his glance. He raised his head, and his eye 
seemed to measure the distance between him and the object 
of his vengeance, but even the long rifle of Bois-Rose could 
scarcely reach them at such a range. 

“ Do not rise up, Pepe !” cautioned the Canadian ; “ you 
will be seen.” 

“ Do you observe any others behind ?” inquired Fabian. 

“Ho one; from the point where the river divicjes to this 
place I see no living being ; if,” added he, after an instant’s 
pause, “ that black mass that I see floating on the river be 
only the trunk of a tree — but at any rate it is floating away 
from us.” 

“Never mind that,” said Fabian, “describe to mo the 
man who accompanies Don Antonio; perhaps I shall recog 
nize him.” 

“ He is tall and straight as a cane ; and what a beautiful 
horse he rides!” 


THE PUNISHMENT OF TANTALUS. 


36V 


“ A bay horse ? and has he gold lace on his hat, and a fine 
face ?” 

“ Precisely.” 

“It is Pedro Diaz. Now it would be a cowardice not to 
show ourselves, when heaven sends us Don Antonio almost 
alone.” 

“ Patience,” said Pepe ; “ I am as interested as you are 
m not letting him escape, but haste may ruin all. When 
one has waited for twenty years, one may easily wait a 
few minutes longer. Are you sure they are alone, Bois- 
Rose ?” 

“ The sand whirls down there, but it is only the wind that 
is stirring it. They are alone, and now they stop and look 
about them.” 

So saying, Bois-Rose rose slowly, like the eagle who 
agitates before completely unfolding his wings — those power- 
ful wings the rapid flight of which will soon bring him down to 
the plain. 

“ Senor Don Estevan,” said Pedro Diaz, “ I think we should 
return to the camp.” 

Don Antonio hesitated a moment. The counsel was good, 
but it was too late to follow it. 

From the top of the rock the three hunters watched their 
every movement. 

“ It is time,” said Bois-Rose. 

“ I must take Don Antonio alive,” said Fabian. “Arrange 
that, and I care for nothing else.” 

Bois-Rose now rose to his full height, and uttered a cry 
which struck on the ears of the new comers. They uttered 
an exclamation of surprise, which surprise was still further 
increased at sight of the gigantic Canadian upon the rock. 

“ Who are you, and what do you want ?” cried a voice, 
which Fabian recognised as that of Don Antonio. 

“ I shall tell you,” replied the hunter ; “ it will recall to 


368 


THE WOOD-BANGERS. 


you a truth — never contested either in my country or in the 
desert — that the ground belongs to the first occupants ; we 
were here before you, and are the sole masters of this place. 
W e therefore wish one of you to retire with a good grace, 
and the other to surrender himself, that we may teach him a 
second law of the desert, 4 blood for blood.’ ” 

44 It is some anchorite whose brain is turned by solitude,” 
said Pedro Diaz ; 44 1 shall terminate the conference with a 
bullet from my rifle.” 

44 No !” cried Don Estevan, stopping him, 44 let us see first 
how far this folly will go. And which of us is it, friend,” 
continued he, with an ironical air, 44 to whom you wish to 
teach this law ?” 

44 To you,” cried Fabian, rising. 

44 What ! you here !” cried Don Estevan with mingled rage 
and surprise. 

Fabian bowed. 

44 And here am I, who have been following you for the 
last fortnight,” said Pepe, 44 and who thank God for the 
opportunity of paying off a debt of twenty year’s stand- 
ing.” 

44 Who are you ?” asked Don Estevan, trying to remember 
who it was, for years and difference of costume had altered 
the aspect of the old coast-guardsman. 

44 Pepe the Sleeper, who has not forgotten his residence at 
Ceuta.” 

At this name, which explained Fabian’s words at the 
bridge of Salto de Agua, Don Estevan lost his air of 
contempt. A sudden presentiment seemed to warn him 
that his fortunes were waning, and he cast around him an 
anxious glance. The high rocks, which on one side shut in 
the valley, might protect him from the fire of his enemies ; 
a short space only separated him from their foot, and pru- 
dence counselled him to fly there, but his pride forbade him 


THE KING-MAKER A CAPTIVE. 


369 


“Well then!” cried he proudly after a pause, “revenge 
yourself on an enemy who disdains to fly.” 

“ Have we not said that we wish to take you alive ?” re 
plied Pepe, coldly. 


CHAPTER XLVIH. 

THE KING-MAKER A CAPTIVE. 

In the whole course of his adventurous life, Hon Estevan 
had never been in such danger. The plain offered him no 
protection against the rifles of his enemies — two at least of 
whom had an infallible eye and steady aim — and who had 
also the advantage of an impregnable position, and turrets of 
rock behind which to intrench themselves. Hon Estevan did 
not conceal from himself the extent of his danger; but 
neither did his courage give way. 

“ Let us have done with this trifling,” cried the sonorous 
voice of Bois-Rose, whose generosity made him averse to 
profit by his advantage, and who scrupled always to shed 
blood if he could avoid it. “ You have heard that we wish 
no harm to any but your chief, and you must make up your 
mind to let us take him. Retire then willingly, if you do not 
wish us to treat you as we intend to treat him.” 

“ Never !” cried Hiaz, “ shall I commit such a cowardice? 
You are the first comers ; so be it ; we will yield the ground 
to you, but Hon Estevan must be allowed to go with me.” 

“We refuse,” cried Pepe; “we particularly want the man 
you call Hon Estevan.” 

“ Ho not oppose the justice of God,” added Fabian ; “ your 
cause i3 only that of man. We give you five minutes to 

16 * 


370 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


reflect, after which our rifles and our good cause shall decide 
between us.” 

“ You have but two minutes to decide,” said Bois-Rose; 
“ listen to me and avoid needless bloodshed.” 

Mediana kept silence and preserved his haughty air. 
Unshakeable in his notions of chivalric honour, Pedro Diaz 
resolved to die with the chief, whose life he believed to be 
so precious to his country. He consulted Don Estevan by a 
look. 

“ Return to the camp,” said the latter ; “ abandon to his 
fate a man henceforth useless to your cause, and come back 
to avenge my death.” 

Diaz was not to be moved, but gradually drew his horse 
closer to Don Estevan, and when their knees touched, with 
his face still turned towards his enemies, he murmured, with 
scarcely a movement of his lips : 

“ Keep steady in your stirrups, have your horse ready, and 
let me act.” 

Don Estevan made signs with his hand as though to de- 
mand a truce ; but he had taken a desperate determination. 

“Bend down Fabian; he is going to fire,” cried Bois- 
Rose. 

“Before my mother’s murderer? # FTever!” cried Fabian. 
Quick as thought, the hand of the Canadian giant on his 
shoulder, forced him down. Don Estevan vainly sought for 
an aim for his double barrelled piece. He could see nothing 
but the formidable rifle of Bois-Rose directed towards him, 
although in obedience to Fabian’s wishes, Bois-Rose would 
not finish the combat by striking his foe to the ground. 

With as much courage as agility, Diaz now jumped up 
behind Don Estevan on his horse, and throwing his arms 
around him to steady him after the shock, seized the bridle, 
turned the animal round, and galloped off, covering with his 
body, as with a buckler, the chief whose life he was willing to 


THE KING-MAKER A CAPTIVE. 


371 


nave at the expense of his own. While Fabian and Pepe 
rushed down the rock, at the risk of breaking their necks, 
Bois-Rose followed the movements of the horse glancing 
along the barrel of his rifle. 

The two men appeared to make but one body : the back ol 
the horse and the shoulders of Diaz were the only objects at 
which Bois-Rose could aim; only now and then. the head of 
the animal was visible. To sacrifice Diaz would be a useless 
murder ; and Don Estevan would still escape. A moment 
more and the fugitives would be out of range ; but the Cana- 
dian was of that class of marksmen who lodge a ball in the 
eye of a beaver, that he may not injure its skin ; and it was 
the horse he wished to aim at. For a single moment the 
head of the noble animal showed itself entirely — but that 
moment was sufficient; a shot was heard, and the two 
men and the death-striken horse rolled over together on the 
ground. 

Bruised by the violence of their fall, both men rose with 
difficulty ; while, their poignards in their teeth, and their 
rifles in their hands, Fabian and Pepe advanced upon them. 
Bois-Rose followed with great gigantic strides, loading 
his rifle as he went. When he had finished, he again 
stopped. 

Pedro Diaz, devoted to the last, rushed towards the gun 
which had fallen from Don Estevan’s hands, picked it up, and 
returned it to him. 

“Let us defend ourselves to the last !” cried he, drawing 
his long knife. 

Don Estevan steadied himself and raised his piece, unde- 
cided for a moment whether to aim at Fabian or at Pepe; 
but Bois-Rose was watching, and a bullet from his rifle broke 
the weapon of the chief in his hands, just where the barrel 
joins the stock, and Don Estevan himself, losing his balance, 
fell forward on the sand. 


372 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“At last, after twenty years!” cried Pepe, rushing to- 
wards him, and placing his knee upon his breast. 

Don Estevan vainly tried to resist; his arm, benumbed 
by the violence of the blow which had broken his gun, 
refused its service. In an instant Pepe had untied the 
woollen scarf which was wound several times round his body, 
and bound with it the limbs of his enemy. Diaz could offer 
no assistance, for he had himself to defend against the attacks 
of Fabian. 

Fabian scarcely knew the Indian fighter ; he had seen him 
only for a few hours at the Hacienda del V enado ; but the 
generosity of his conduct had awakened in the heart of the 
young man a warm sympathy, and he wished to spare his 
life. 

“ Surrender, Diaz !” cried he, parrying a dagger blow 
aimed at him ; but Diaz resolved not to yield, and for the 
few minutes during which Pepe was engaged in binding Don 
Estevan, there was a contest of skill and ability between him 
and Fabian. Too generous to use his rifle against a man 
who had but a dagger to defend himself with, Fabian tried 
only to disarm his adversary ; but Diaz, blinded by rage, 
did not perceive the generous efforts of the young man, who, 
holding his rifle by the barrel, and using it as a club, tried 
to strike the arm which menaced him. But Fabian had to 
deal with an antagonist not less active and vigorous than him- 
self. Bounding from right to left, Diaz avoided his blows, 
and just as Fabian believed he was about to succeed, he 
found himself striking in the air, and the knife menacing him 
afresh. Bois-Rose without waiting to reload, ran up tc 
put an end to the struggle — in which Fabian’s generosity 
placed him at a disadvantage — and Pepe, having fast bound 
his enemy, advanced also. 

Thus menaced by three men, Diaz determined not to die 
without vengeance. He drew his arm back, and made a 


THE KING-MAKER A CAPTIVE. 


373 


rapid thrust at Fabian; but the latter had been carefully 
watching the movement, and his rifle met the murdering 
weapon on its way. The dagger fell to the ground ; and 
Pepe, seizing Diaz round the body just as Fabian struck 
him, cried, “Fool! must we kill you, then? If not, what 
shall we do with you ?” 

“ What you have done to that noble gentleman,” replied 
Diaz, pointing to Don Estevan. 

“ Do not ask to share his fate,” said Pepe ; “ that man’s 
days are numbered.” 

“ Whatever his fate is to be, I wish to share it,” cried 
Diaz, vainly trying to free himself. “I accept from you 
neither quarter nor mercy.” 

“ Do not play with our anger !” said Pepe, whose passions 
were roused ; “ I am not in the habit of offering mercy 
twice.” 

“I know how to make him accept it,” said Fabian, picking 
up the fallen knife. “ Let him go, Pepe ; with a man like 
Diaz, one can always come to terms.” 

Fabian’s tone was so firm, that Pepe opened his arms 
and loosened the iron grasp in which the Mexican was 
bound. 

“ Here, Diaz,” said Fabian, “ take your weapon, and listen 
to me.” 

So saying, Fabian advanced and offered him his knife 
without any attempt at guarding himself. Diaz took the 
weapon, but his adversary had not presumed too far ; at the 
heroic simplicity of Fabian his anger vanished on the instant. 

“I listen,” said he, flinging his knife to the ground. 

“ I knew it would be so,” replied Fabian, with a smile. 

“ You interposed unknowingly between crime and the just 
vengeance which pursued it. Do you know who is the man 
for whom you wish to expose your life ? and who are those 
who have spared it ? Do you know whether or not we have 


374 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


the right to demand from him, whom you doubtless kno^v 
only as Don Estevan, a terrible account of the past ? Reply 
honestly to the questions that I shall put to you, and then 
decide on which side justice lies.” 

Astonished at these words, Diaz listened in silence, and 
Fabian went on : 

“ If you had been born in a privileged class, heir to a great 
fortune ; if a man had taken from you your fortune and your 
name, and reduced you to the rank of those who have to work 
for their daily bread, should you be the friend of that man ?” 

“No, I should be his enemy.” 

“ If that man, to destroy the last souvenir of your birth, 
had murdered your mother, what would he deserve from 
you ?” 

“ Blow for blow — blood for blood.” 

“ If, after a long and difficult pursuit, fate had at last 
delivered the spoiler into your hands, what would you do ?” 

“ I should think myself guilty towards God and man if I 
spared him.” 

“Well, then, Diaz,” cried Fabian, “ there is a man who 
has taken from me my name, my fortune, and murdered my 
mother ; I have pursued this murderer and spoiler — fate has 
delivered him into my hands, and there he lies !” 

A cloud passed over the eyes of Diaz at the sight of the 
chief whose doom was thus pronounced, for the sentiment 
of inexorable justice that God has implanted in the heart of 
man told him that Don Estevan merited his fate, if Fabian 
spoke truly. He sighed, but offered no reply. 

While these events were taking place in the midst of the 
plain, the actors of the scene might have observed Cuchillo 
raise with precaution the leaves which covered his head, cast 
an eager glance on the Golden Valley, and then glide out of 
the lake. Covered with mud, and his garments streaming 
with water, they might have mistaken him for one of the evil 


THE TWO MEDIAN AS FACE TO FACE. 


370 


spirits whom the Indians believed to dwell in these solitudes, 
But their attention was completely absorbed by what was 
taking place among themselves. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

THE TWO MEDIANAS FACE TO FACE. 

Pedro Diaz speedily roused himself from the deep de- 
pression and astonishment which had for a moment over- 
powered him. 

“ According to the rules of war, I am your prisoner,” said 
he, raising his head, “ and I am anxious to know your deci- 
sion concerning me.” 

“You are free, Diaz,” replied Fabian, “free without con- 
ditions.” 

“ Xot so ! not so !” said the Canadian, quickly interrupt- 
ing him. “We must, on the contrary, impose a rigorous 
condition upon your liberty.” 

“ What is it ?” asked the adventurer. 

“ You have now, in common with us,” replied Bois-Rose, 
“ become possessed of a secret which we have long since 
known. I have my reasons for wishing that the knowledge 
of this secret should expire with those whose evil destiny 
makes them acquainted with it. You only,” added the 
Canadian, “ will be an exception to the rule, because a brave 
man like yourself should be a slave to his word. I demand, 
then, before restoring you your liberty, a promise upon youi 
honour, never to reveal to human being, the existence of 
the Golden Valley.” 


376 


THE WOOD-RANGERS 


“ I never indulged any hope in acquiring this treasure, “ 
replied the noble adventurer, in a melancholy tone, u beyond 
that of the freedom and aggrandizement of my country. The 
sad fate which threatens the man, to whom I looked for the 
realization of my hopes, proves to me that in both cases I 
have entertained a delusive dream. Even should all the 
riches of the Golden Valley remain forever buried in these 
deserts, what would it avail me now ? I swear then, and you 
may rely upon my honour, that I shall never reveal its exist- 
ence to a living soul. I shall try to forget that I have ever, 
for an instant, beheld it*” 

“ It is well,” said Bois-Rose, “ you are now free to go.” 

“ Not yet, with your permission,” replied .the prisoner. 
“ In all that has taken place, there is a mystery which I do 
not seek to penetrate — but — ” 

“ Carramba ! it is very simple,” answered Pepe. “ This 
young man,” said he, pointing to Fabian — 

“Not yet, Pepe,” replied the latter solemnly, making a 
sign to the hunter to postpone his explanations. “ In the 
court of justice which is about to be convened — in the pre- 
sence of the Supreme Judge (Fabian pointed to heaven), 
by the accusation as well as the defence, all will become 
clear to Diaz, if he will remain a short while with us. In the 
desert, time is precious ; and we must prepare ourselves, by 
meditation and silence, for the terrible deed which we are 
now compelled to accomplish.” 

“ I am most anxious to obtain permission to stay. I do 
not know if this man be innocent or guility ; but, I do know 
that he is the chief whom I have freely chosen ; and I will 
remain with him to the last, ready to defend him against you 
at the cost of my own life, if he is innocent — ready to bow 
before the sentence which condemns him, if he is guilty.” 

“ Be it so,” rejoined Fabian. “ You shall hear and judge 
for yourself.” 


THE TWO MEDIANAS FACE TO FACE. 


377 


“ This man is of noble birth,” continued Diaz, sadly, “ and 
he lies yonder in the dust, bound like the meanest criminal.” 

“Unloose him, Diaz!” replied Fabian, “but do not en- 
deavour to shield him from the vengeance which a son must 
claim for his mother’s murderer. Require from him a pro- 
mise that he will not attempt to escape ; we shall rely upon 
you in this matter.” 

“I pledge my honour that he will not do so,” said the 
adventurer, “ nor would I assist him in the attempt.” And 
Diaz, as he said this, proceeded towards Don Estevan. 

In the mean time Fabian, oppressed by sad and anxious 
thoughts, seated himself at some distance, and appeared to 
deplore his unfortunate victory. 

Pepe turned away his head, and for awhile stood as if 
attentively observing the mists as they floated above the crests 
of the mountains. 

Bois-Rose reclined in his usual attitude of repose, while 
his eyes, expressive of deep anxiety, were centred upon 
the young man, and his noble physiognomy seemed to 
reflect the clouds which gathered upon the brow of his 
beloved protege. 

Meanwhile Diaz had rejoined the prostrate captive. 

Who can guess how many conflicting thoughts crowded 
upon the mind of the Spanish nobleman, as he lay upon the 
ground ? His expression retained as much pride as when in 
his more prosperous days he had imagined the possibility of 
conquering, and bestowing, a throne upon the deposed heir of 
the Spanish monarchy. At the sight of Diaz, who, he believed 
had abandoned his cause, an expression of deep melancholy 
came over his countenance. 

“ Do you come as an enemy, or a friend, Diaz ?” said 
he. “ Are you one of those who take a secret pleasure in 
contemplating the humiliation of the man whom, in the days 
of his prosperity, you, like others, would have flattered ?” 


378 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ I am one of those who flatter only the fallen,” replied 
Diaz, “ and who are not offended by the bitterness of speech 
which is dictated by great misfortune.” 

As he uttered these words, which were confirmed by the 
dejection of his manner, Diaz hastened to remove the cords 
with which the captive’s arms were bound. 

“I have given my word that you will not endeavour to 
escape the fate, whatever it may be, which awaits you at the 
hands of these men, into whose power we have fallen by 
an unlucky chance. I believe you have not even thought of 
flight.” 

“ And you are right, Diaz,” replied Don Estevan ; “ but 
can you guess what fate these fellows have reserved for me ?” 

“ They talk of a murder to be avenged, of an accusation, 
and a judgment.” 

“A judgment !” replied Don Antonio with a haughty and 
bitter smile, “ they may assassinate, but they shall never judge 
me.” 

“In the former case, I shall die with you,” said Diaz, 
simply, “ in the latter — but of what use is it to speak of that 
which cannot be? you are innocent of the crime of which 
they accuse you ?” 

“I have a presentiment of the fate which awaits me,” 
replied Don Estevan without answering the adventurer’s 
interrogation. “A faithful subject will be lost to his king — 
Don Carlos the First. But you will carry on my work ? you 
will restore the prosperity of Sonora. You will return to the 
Senator Tragaduros — he knows what he has to do, and you 
will support him ?” 

“Ah!” cried Diaz, sadly, “such a work cannot be at- 
tempted but by you. In your hands I might have proved a 
powerful instrument; without you I shall sink into insig- 
nificant obscurity. The hope of my country expires wit! 
you.” 


THE TWO M EDI ANAS FACE TO FAC.A. 


379 


During this interval, Fabian and Bois-Rose had quitted the 
spot where the preceding scenes had so rapidly taken place. 
They had reached the base of the pyramid. It was there 
that the solemn assizes were to be held, in which Fabian and 
the Duke de Armada were about to act the parts of judge 
and criminal. 

Pepe made a sign to Diaz ; Don Estevan saw and under- 
stood it. 

“ It is not enough to have remained a prisoner,” said Diaz ; 
“ you must meet your fate ; the conquered must obey the 
conqueror — come !” 

As Diaz ceased speaking, the Spanish nobleman, armed 
-with the pride which never deserted him, approached the 
pyramid with a firm step. Pepe had rejoined his two com- 
panions. 

Don Estevan’s looks, as he advanced, displayed a dauntless 
composure equally removed from bravado or weakness — 
which won a glance of admiration from his three enemies — 
all of them excellent judges of courage. 

Fabian rose and stepped forward to meet his noble pri- 
soner. A few paces behind, Diaz also advanced — his 
head bowed low, and his mind oppressed by gloomy 
thoughts. Everything in the manner of the conquerors con- 
vinced him that, on this occasion, right would be on the side 
of power. 

“ My Lord of Mediana,” said Fabian, as, with head uncov- 
ered, he paused a few steps in advance of the noble Spaniard 
who had approached him, “ you perceive that I recognize 
you, and you also know who I am.” 

The Duke de Armada remained upright and motionless, 
without responding to his nephew’s courtesy. 

“ I am entitled to keep my head covered in the presence 
of the King of Spain ; I shall use that privilege with you,” 
he replied; “also I claim the right of remaining silent 


580 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


when I think proper, and shall now exercise that right if it 
please you.” 

Notwithstanding this haughty reply, the younger son of 
the Medianas could not but remember how he, a trembling 
and weeping child, had, twenty years before, in the castle ol 
Elanchovi quailed beneath the glance of the man w’hom he 
now presumed to judge. 

The limid eaglet had now become the eagle, which, in its 
turn, held the prey in its powerful talons. 

The glances of the two Medianas crossed like two swords, 
and Diaz contemplated with mingled astonishment and respect, 
the adopted son of the gambusino Arellanos, suddenly trans- 
formed and raised above the humble sphere in which he had 
for an instant known him. 

The adventurer awaited the solution of this enigma. 
Fabian armed himself with a pride which equalled that of the 
Duke de Armada. 

“ As you will,” said he, “ yet it might be prudent to re- 
member, that here the right claimed by power is not an empty 
boast.” 

“It is true,” replied Don Antonio, who, notwithstanding 
his apparent resignation, trembled with rage and despair at 
the total failure of his hopes. “ I ought not to forget that 
you are doubtless inclined to profit by this right. I shall 
answer your question then when I tell you that I am aware 
of but one fact concerning you, which is that some demon 
has inspired you continually to cast some impediment in the 
way of the object I pursue — I know ” 

Here rage stifled his utterance. 

The impetuous young man listened with a changing coun- 
tenance to the words uttered by the assassin of his mother, 
and whom he even now suspected was the murderer of his 
adopted father. 

Truly it is the heroism of moderation, at which those who 


THE TWO MEDIANAS FACE TO FACE. 


381 


do not know the slight value attached to human life in the 
deserts, cannot be sufficiently astonished — for here law cannot 
touch the offender — but the short space of time which had 
elapsed since Fabian joined Bois-Rose was sufficient, under 
the gentle influence of the old hunter, to calm his feelings 
immeasurably. 

He was no longer the young man whose fiery passions were 
the instruments of a vengeance to which he yielded blindly. 
He had learnt that power should go hand in hand with jus- 
tice, and may often be combined with mercy. 

This was the secret of a moderation, hitherto so opposed to 
his temperament. It was not, however, difficult to trace, 
in the changing expression of his countenance, the efforts he 
had been compelled to make to impose a restraint upon his 
anger. 

On his side, the Spanish noble concealed his passion under 
the mask of silence. 

“ So then,” resumed Fabian, “ you know nothing more of 
me ? You are not acquainted either with my name or rank ? 
I am nothing more to you than what I seem ?” 

“ An assassin, perhaps !” replied Mediana, turning his 
back to Fabian to show that he did not wish to reply to his 
question. 

During the dialogue which had taken place between 
these two men of the same blood, and of equally uncon- 
querable nature, the wood-rangers had remained at some 
distance. 

“Approach,” said Fabian to the ex-carabinier, “and say,” 
added he, with forced calmness, “ what you know of me to 
this man whose lips have dared to apply to me a name which 
he only deserves.” 

If any doubt could still have remained upon Don Estevan’s 
mind with regard to the intentions of those into whose hands 
he had fallen, that doubt must have disappeared when he 


582 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


beheld the gloomy air with which Pepe came forward m 
obedience to Fabian’s command. 

The visible exertion he made to repress the rancorous feel 
ings which the sight of the Spanish noble aroused in him, 
filled the latter with a sad presentiment. 

A shudder passed through the frame of Don Estevan, but 
he did not lower his eyes, and by the aid of his invincible 
pride, he waited with apparent calmness until Pepe began to 
speak. 

“ Carramba!” exclaimed the latter in a tone which he tried 
in vain to render agreeable. “ It was certainly worth while 
to send me to catch sea-fish upon the borders of the Medi- 
terranean, so that, at the end of my journey, I might, three 
thousand leagues from Spain, fall in with the nephew whose 
mother you murdered. I don’t know whether Don Fabian 
de Mediana is inclined to pardon you, but for my part,” added 
he, striking the ground with the butt end of his rifle, “T have 
sworn that I will not do so.” 

Fabian directed a haughty glance towards Pepe, as though 
to command his submission ; then addressing himself to the 
Spaniard : 

“ My Lord of Mediana, you are not now in the presence 
of assassins, but of judges, and Pepe will not forget it.” 

“ Before judges !” cried Don Antonio ; “ my peers only 
possess the right of judgment, and I do not recognize as such 
a malefactor escaped from jail and a beggarly usurper who 
has assumed a title to which he has no right. I do not 
acknowledge here any other Mediana than myself, and have 
therefore no reply to make.” 

“ Nevertheless I must constitute myself your judge,” said 
Fabian, “yet believe me I shall be an impartial one, since 1 
take as a witness that God whose sun shines upon us, when I 
swear that I no longer entertain any feelings of animosity oi 
aatred against you.” 


LYNCH LAW. 


388 


There was so much truth in the manner with which Fabian 
pronounced these words, that, for an instant, Don Estevan’s 
countenance lost its expression of gloomy defiance, and was 
even lit up by a ray of hope, for the Duke de i^rmada recol- 
lected that he stood face to face with the heir for whom, in 
his pride, he had once mourned. It was therefore in a less 
severe tone that he asked — 

“ Of what crime am I then accused ?” 

“ Y ou are about to hear,” replied Fabian. 


CHAPTER L. 

LYNCH LAW. 

On the frontiers of America there exists a terrible law, yet 
it is not this clause alone which renders it so — “ Eye for eye, 
tooth for tooth, blood for blood.” The application of this 
law is evident in all the ways of providence, to those who 
observe the course of events here below. “ He who kills by 
the sword shall perish by the sword,” says the gospel. 

But the law of the desert is terrible by reason of the 
majesty with which it is invested, or claims to be invested. 

This law is terrible in common with all laws of blood, and 
the more so, since those who have recourse to it usurp a 
power which does not belong to them, inasmuch as the 
injured party constitutes himself judge of his own cause, and 
executes the sentence which he himself has pronounced. 

Such is the so-called “ Lynch law.” 

In the central parts of America, white men as well as 
Indians execute this law with cruel severity against each 
other. Civilized communities adopt it in a mitigated form 


384 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


as applied to capital punishment, but the untutored inhabi- 
tants of the desert continue to practise it with the same 
rigour which belonged to the first ages of mankind. 

And may we not here make the remark, that the similitude 
of feeling on this point, between the white man and the 
savages, casts a stain upon the former which for his own 
honour he should endeavour to wipe out ? 

Society has provided laws for the protection of all men. 
The man who amongst us should assume the right of judg- 
ment, and take the law into his own hands, would thus vio- 
late it, and fall under the jurisdiction of those whom society 
has appointed to try, and to condemn. 

We are not without a hope that at some future time, as 
civilization advances, men will allow that they who deprive a 
culprit of that life which none can recall, commit an act of 
sacrilege in defiance of those divine laws which govern the 
universe and take precedence of all human decrees. 

A time will come, we would fain believe, when our laws 
may spare the life of a guilty man, and suffer him to atone 
for his errors or his crimes by repentance. Such a law 
would respect the life which can never be restored ; and 
while another exists which casts an irretrievable stain upon 
our honour, there would be a law of restoration capable of 
raising the man sanctified by repentance to the dignity which 
punishment would have prevented his attaining. 

“ There is more joy in heaven,” says the gospel, “ over a 
sinner who repents, than a righteous man made perfect.” 
Why then are not human laws a counterpart of these divine 
decrees ? 

Now, however, liberty is the only boon which society con- 
fers upon him whose misfortunes or whose crimes have 
deprived him of it. 

Misfortunes did we not say ? Is there not in truth a law 
which assimilates the criminal with the upright though 


LYNCH LAW. 


385 


insolvent debtor, and compels him to the same fate in pri- 
son ? 

So much for this subject. Let us now return to the lynch 
law of the desert. It was before a tribunal without appeal, 
and in the presence of self-constituted judges, that Don 
Antonio de Mediana was about to appear. A court assem- 
bled in a city, with all its imposing adjuncts, could not have 
surpassed in solemnity the assizes which at this moment were 
convoked in the desert, where three men represented human 
justice armed with all its terrors 1 

We have described the singular and fantastic aspect pre- 
sented by the spot, in which this scene was to be enacted. 
In truth, the sombre mountains, veiled in mist, the mysteri- 
ous subterranean sounds, the long tufts of human hair agitat- 
ed by every breath of wind, the skeleton of the Indian 
horse exposed to view, all combined to endue the place with 
a strange unearthly appearance in the eyes of the prisoner, 
so that he almost believed himself under the influence of 
some horrible dream. 

One might have imagined himself suddenly transported 
into the middle ages, in the midst of some secret society, 
where previous to the admission of the candidate, were dis- 
played all the terrors of the earth, as a means of proving his 
courage. 

All this however was here a fearful reality. 

Fabian pointed out to the Duke de Armada, one of the flat 
stones, resembling tombstones, which were strewed over the 
plain, and seated himself upon another so as to form with 
the Canadian and his companion a triangle, in which he occu- 
pied the most prominent position. 

“ It is not becoming for the criminal to sit in the presence 
of the judges,” said the Spanish noble, with a bitter smile, 
“ I shall therefore remain standing.” 

Fabian made no reply. 


17 


386 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


He waited until Diaz, the only disinterested witness in thl* 
court of justice — had chosen a convenient place. 

The adventurer remained at some distance from the actors 
in the scene, yet sufficiently near to see and hear all that 
passed. 

Fabian began : 

“You are about to be told,” said he, “ of what crime you 
are accused. You are to look upon me as the judge who 
presides at your trial, and who will either condemn or acquit 
you.” 

Having thus spoken he paused to consider. 

“ It will first be necessary to establish the identity of the 
criminal. Are you in truth,” he continued, “that Don 
Antonio, whom men here call the Count de Mediana?” 

“Ho,” replied the Spaniard in a firm voice. 

“ Who are you then ?” continued Fabian, “ in a mingled 
tone of astonishment and regret, for he repudiated the idea 
that a Mediana would have recourse to a cowardly subter- 
fuge. 

“I was the Count de Mediana,” replied the prisoner, with 
a haughty smile, “ until by my sword I acquired other titles. 
At present I am known in Spain as the Duke de Armada. It 
is the name I shall transmit to the descendant of my line 
whom I may choose as my adopted son.” 

The latter phrase, incidentally spoken by the prisoner, 
proved in the sequel his sole means of defence. 

“ Right,” said Fabian, “ the Duke de Armada shall hear 
of what crime Don Antonio de Mediana is accused. Speak, 
Bois-Rose ! tell us what you know, and nothing more.” 

The rough and energetic countenance of the gigantic 
descendant of the Norman race, as he stood motionless beside 
them, his carbine supported on his broad shoulder, was ex- 
pressive of such calm integrity, that his appearance alone 
banished all idea of perjury. Bois-Rose drew himself up, 


LYNCH LAW. 


38V 


*!jwly removed bis fur cap, and in doing i!> discovered his 
fine open brow to the gaze of all. 

“I will only speak of what I know,” said he. 

“ On a foggy night, in the month of November, 1808, I 
was a sailor on board a French smuggling-vessel called the 
Albatros. 

“We had landed according to a plan formed with the 
captain of the carabiniers of Elanchovi, on the coast of the 
Bay of Biscay. I will not relate to you,” and here Pepe 
could not repress a smile, “ how we were fired upon, and 
repulsed from the shore where we had landed as friends. It 
is sufficient for you to know that when we again reached 
our vessel, I was attracted by the screams of a child, which 
seemed to come from the depths of the ocean. 

“ These cries proceeded from a boat which had been aban- 
doned. 

“ I pushed out towards it at the risk of my own life, since 
a brisk fire was opened upon our ship. 

“ In this boat I found a lady murdered, and lying in her 
blood. She was quite dead, and close to her was a little 
child who appeared to be dying. 

“ I picked up the child — that child is now the man before 
us ; his name is Fabian. 

“ I took the child with me, and left the murdered lady in 
the boat. I do not know wh'. committed the crime, and 
have nothing further to say.” 

As he finished speaking, Bois-Rose again covered his head, 
and seated himself in silence. 

A mournful silence followed this declaration. 

Fabian lowered his flashing eyes for an instant to the 
ground, then raised them, calm and cold, to the face of the 
ex-carabinier, whose turn had now come to speak. 

Fabian was prepared to act his terrible part, and the coun- 
tenance as well as the attitude of the young man, though 


388 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


clothed in rags, expressed the nobility which characterized 
an ancien/, race, as well as the collected coolness of a judge. 
He cast an authoritative glance towards Pepe, and the half- 
savage trapper was compelled to submit to it in silence. 

Pepe at length rose, and advanced a few paces, by his man- 
ner showing a determination only to utter that which his 
conscience approved. 

“ I understand you, Count Mediana,” said he, addressing 
himself to Fabian, who alone in his eyes had the right to 
assume this title. “ I will try to forget that the man here 
present is the same who caused me to spend so many long 
years among the refuse of mankind at Ceuta. When I 
appear before God he may require of me the words I have 
spoken, but I should again repeat them, nor regret that they 
had ever been uttered. ,, 

Fabian made a gesture of approbation. 

“One night in the month of November, 1808 ,” said he, 
“ When I belonged to the Royal Carabiniers in the service 
of Spain, I was on duty upon the coast of Elanchovi, when 
three men disembarked from the open sea upon the 
beach. 

“Our captain had sold to one of them the right of landing 
in a forbidden spot. 

“ I reproach myself with having been this man’s accom- 
plice, and receiving from him the price of culpable neglect of 
my duty. 

“ The following day it was discovered that the Countess 
Mediana and her young son had left the castle during the 
night. 

“The Countess was murdered — the young Count was 
never seen again. 

“ A short time after, his uncle appeared at Elanchovi and 
claimed his nephew’s fortune and titles. All was given up 
to him, and I, who believed that I had only sold my services 


LYNCH LAW. 


389 


to favour an intrigue or an affair of smuggling, found that I 
had been the accomplice of a murderer. 

“ I upbraided the present Count Mediana before witnesses, 
and accused him of this crime. Five years’ imprisonment at 
Ceuta was the reward of my presumption. 

“ Here before another and more righteous tribunal, and in 
the presence of God who is my witness, I again accuse the 
man before me. I declare him to be the murderer of the 
Countess, and the usurper of her son’s titles. He was one 
of the three men, who, during the night entered by escalade 
the chateau which Don Fabian’s mother never again beheld. 

“ Let the murderer refute the charge. I have done.” 

“You hear him ?” said Fabian, “ what have you to say in 
your defence ?” 

A violent struggle between his conscience and his pride 
took place in Mediana’s breast. 

Pride however triumphed. 

“ N othing,” replied Don Antonio. 

“Nothing!” answered Fabian, “but you do not perhaps 
know what a terrible duty I have to fulfil ?” 

“ I can imagine it.” 

“ And I,” cried Fabian passionately, “ shall not flinch in 
accomplishing it. Yet, though my mother’s blood cries out 
for vengeance, should you refute the charge, I would bless 
you still. Swear to me then, in the name of Mediana, which 
we bear in common, by your honour and the salvation of 
your soul, that you are innocent, and I shall be too happy to 
believe you.” 

Then, oppressed with an intolerable anguish, Fabian 
awaited his reply. 

But, gloomy and inflexible as the fallen archangel, Medi- 
ana was silent. 

At this moment Diaz advanced towards the judges and 
the prisoner. 


500 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“I have listened,” said he, “ with the utmost attention to 
your accusation again Don Estevau de Arechiza, whom 1 
also know to be the Duke de Armada ; may I express my 
thoughts freely ?” 

“ Speak !” said Fabian. 

“ One point seems to me doubtful. I do not know whether 
the crime you attribute to this noble cavalier was committed 
by him ; but, admitting that to be the case, have you any 
right to condemn him ? In accordance with the laws of our 
frontier, where no court may be held, it is only the nearest 
relatives of the victim who are entitled to claim the blood 
of the murderer. 

“ Don Tiburcio’s youth was passed in this country. I 
knew him as the adopted son of Marcos Arellanos. 

“ Who can prove that Tiburcio Arellanos is the son of the 
murdered lady ? 

“How, after so many years, can it be possible for this hun- 
ter, formerly a sailor, to recognize in the midst of these soli- 
tudes, the young man, whom as a child he beheld only for 
an instant on a foggy night ?” 

“ Answer, Bois-Rose,” said Fabian, coldly. 

The Canadian again rose. 

“ I ought, in the first place, to state,” said the old hunter, 
“that it was not only for a few moments on a foggy night 
that I saw the child in question. During the space of two 
years, after having saved him from certain death, I kept him 
on board the vessel in which I was a sailor. 

“ The features of his son could not be more deeply im- 
pressed upon the memory of a father than those of that child 
were on mine. 

“ Plow then can you affirm that it is impossible I should 
recognize him ? 

“ When you are travelling in the desert, where there is 
no beaten track, are you not guided by the course of streams, 


LTNCH LAW 


891 


by the character of the trees, by the conformation of their 
trunks, by the growth of the moss which clothes them, and 
by the stars of heaven? and when at another season, or 
even twenty years afterwards, should the rains have swelled 
the streams, or the sun have dried them up, should the once 
naked trees be clothed with leaves, should their trunks have 
expanded, and moss covered their roots, even should the 
north star have changed its position in the heavens, and 
you again beheld it, would you not recognize both star and 
stream ?” 

“ Doubtless,” replied Diaz, “ the man who has experience 
in the desert, is seldom deceived.” 

“ When you meet a stranger in the forest, who answers 
you with the cry of a bird or the voice of an animal, which 
is to serve as a rallying signal to you or your friends, do you 
not immediately say, 4 This man is one of us ?’ ” 

“ Assuredly.” 

“ Well, then ; I recognize the child in the grown man, just 
as you recognize the small shrub in the tall tree; or the 
stream that once murmured softly in the roaring and swollen 
torrent of to-day. I know this child again by a mode of 
speech, which twenty years have scarcely altered.” 

“ Is not this meeting a somewhat strange coincidence ?” 
interrupted Diaz, now almost convinced of the Canadian’s 
veracity. 

“ God,” cried Bois-Rose, solemnly, “ who commands the 
breeze to waft across the desert the fertilizing seeds of the 
male palm to the female date-tree — God, who confides to 
the wind which destroys, to the devastating torrent, or to 
the bird of passage, the grain which is to be deposited a thou- 
sand miles from the plant that produced it — is he not also 
able to send upon the same path two human beings made in 
his image ?” 

Diaz was silent a moment ; then having nothing more ta 


692 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


advance m contradiction to the Canadian’s truthful words 
whose honest manner of speech carried with it an irresistible 
conviction, he turned towards Pepe : 

“ Did you,” said he, “ also recognize in Arellanos’ adopted 
child, the Countess de Mediana’s son ?” 

“ It would be impossible for any one who ever saw his 
mother long to mistake him. Enough ! let the Duke de 
Armada contradict us.” 

Don Antonio, too proud to utter a falsehood, could not 
deny the truth without degrading himself in the eyes of his 
accusers, unless he destroyed the only means of defence to 
which his pride and the secret wish of his heart allowed him 
to have recourse. 

“ It is true,” said he, “ that this man is of my own blood. 
I cannot deny it without polluting my lips with a lie, and an 
untruth is the offspring of cowardice.” 

Diaz inclined his head, regained his seat, and was silent. 

“You have heard,” said Fabian, “that I am indeed the 
son of the woman whom this man murdered ; therefore 1 
claim the right of avenging her. What then do the laws of 
the desert decree ?” 

“ Eye for eye,” said Bois-Rose. 

“ Tooth for tooth,” added Pepe. 

“ Blood for blood,” continued Fabian ; “ a death for a 
death!” 

Then he rose, and addressing Don Antonio in measured 
accents, said : “You have shed blood and committed mur- 
der. It shall therefore be done to you as you have done to 
others. God commanded it to be so.” 

Fabian drew his poignard from its sheath. The sun was 
shedding his first rays upon the scene, and every object cast 
a long shadow upon the ground. 

A bright flash shot from the naked blade which the 
younger Mediana held in his hand. 


LYNCH LAW. 


393 


Fabian buried its point in the sand. 

The shadow of the poignard far exceeded its 1 ragth. 

“ The sun,” he said, “ shall determine how many moments 
you have to live. When the shadow disappears you shall 
appear before God, and my mother will be avenged.” 

A deathlike silence succeeded Fabian’s last words, who, 
overcome with long suppressed emotions, fell, rather than 
seated himself upon the stone. 

Bois-Rose and Pepe both retained their seats. The judges 
and the criminal were alike motionless. 

Diaz perceived that all was over, but he did not wish to 
take any part in the execution of the sentence. 

He approached the Duke de Armada, knelt down before 
him, took his hand and raised it to his lips. 

“ I will pray for the salvation of your soul,” said he, in a 
low tone. “ Do you release me from my oath ?” 

“Yes,” replied Don Antonio, in a firm voice; “go, and 
may God bless you for your fidelity !” 

The noble adventurer retired in silence. 

His horse had remained at some short distance. 

Diaz soon reached it, and holding the bridle in his 
hands, walked slowly toward the spot where the river 
forked. 

In the meantime the sun followed its eternal course — the 
shadows gradually contracted — the black vultures flew in 
circles above the heads of the four actors in the terrible 
drama the last scene of which was now drawing near. From 
the depths of the Misty Mountains, shrouded in vapour, might 
be heard, at intervals, dull rumbling sounds, like thunder, 
followed by distant explosions. 

Pale, but resigned, the unfortunate Count de Mediana 
remained standing. Buried in deep reverie, he did not ap- 
pear to notice the continually decreasing shadow. 

All exterior objects vanished from his sight. His thoughts 


804 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


were divided between the past which no longer concerned 
him, and the future he was about to enter. 

However, pride still struggled within him, and he main- 
tained an obstinate silence. 

“My Lord Count,” said Fabian, who was willing to try a 
last chance, “ in five minutes the poignard will have ceased 
to cast a shadow.” 

“ I have nothing to say of the past,” replied Hon Antonio. 
“ I must now think only of the future of my race. 

“Ho not, therefore, misjudge the sense of the words I am 
about to speak. Whatever may be the form in which it may 
come, death has no power to terrify me.” 

“ I am listening,” said Fabian gently. 

“You are very young, Fabian,” continued Mediana, M and 
the thought of the blood that has been shed will therefore be 
so much the longer a burthen to you.” 

Fabian’s countenance revealed the anguish of his feelings. 

“ Why then so soon pollute a life which is scarcely begun ? 
Why refuse to follow a course which the unlooked-for favour 
of Providence opens to you ? Here you are poor, and with- 
out connections. God restores you to your family, and, at 
the same moment confers wealth upon you. The inheritance of 
your race has not been squandered by me. I have for twenty 
years borne the name of Mediana, at the head of the Span- 
ish nobles, and I am ready to restore it to you with all the 
honours I have conferred upon it. Accept then a fortune 
which I joyfully restore to you, for the isolation of my life is 
burthensome to me ; but do not purchase it by a crime, for 
which an imaginary act of justice cannot absolve you, and 
which you will repent to your last hour.” 

Fabian replied, 

“A judge who presides at his tribunal must not listen to 
the voice of nature. Supported by his conscience, and the 
service he renders to society, he may pity the criminal, 


LYNCH LAW. 


395 


though his duty requires that he shall condemn nim. In this 
solitude, these two men and myself represent human justice. 
"Refute the crime attributed to you, Don Antonio, and I shall 
be the happiest of us two ; for though I shudder to accuse 
you, I cannot escape the fatal mission which heaven has im- 
posed upon me.” 

“ Consider well, Fabian, and remember that it is not pai- 
don, but oblivion, for which I sue. Thanks to that oblivion, 
it rests with you to become, in my adopted son, the princely 
heir of the house of Mediana. After my death my title will 
expire.” 

As he listened to these words the young man became 
deadly pale ; but spurning in his heart the temptation held 
out to him, Fabian closed his ears to that voice which offered 
him so large a share of the riches of this world, as though 
he had but heard the light whispers of the breeze amid the 
foliage of the trees. 

“ Oh, Count Mediana, why did you kill my mother ?” cried 
Fabian, covering his face with his hands ; then, glancing 
towards the poignard planted in the sand, “My lord of 
Armada,” he added, solemnly, “the poignard is without a 
shadow !” 

Don Antonio trembled in spite of himself, as he then re- 
called the prophetic threat, which twenty years before the 
Countess de Mediana had compelled him to hear. 

“ Perhaps,” she had said, “ the God whom you blaspheme 
will ordain, that in the heart of a desert, untrodden by the 
foot of man, you shall find an accuser, a witness, a judge, 
and an executioner.” 

Accuser, witness, and judge were all before him, but who 
was to be the executioner ? However, nothing was wanting 
for the accomplishment of the dreadful prophecy. 

A noise of branches, suddenly torn apart, was heard at this 
moment. 


090 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


The moment after, a man emerged from the brushwood, his 
habiliments dripping with water and soiled with mud. It was 
Cuchillo. 

The bandit advanced with an air of imperturbable cool- 
ness, though he appeared to limp slightly. 

Not one of the four men, so deeply absorbed in their own 
terrible reflections, showed any astonishment at his presence. 

“ Carramba ! you expected me then ?” he cried ; “ and 
yet I persisted in prolonging the most disagreeable bath I 
have ever taken, for fear of causing you all a surprise, for 
which my self-love might have suffered ” (Cuchillo did not 
allude to his excursion in the mountains) ; “ but the water of 
this lake is so icy that rather than perish with cold, I would 
have run a greater risk than meeting with old friends.” 

“ Added to this I felt a wound in my leg reopen. It was 
received some time since, in fact, long ago, in my youth. 

“ Senor Don Estevan, Don Tiburcio, I am your very hum- 
ble servant.” 

A profound silence succeeded these words. Cuchillo began 
to feel that he was acting the part of the hare, who takes 
refuge in the teeth of the hounds ; but he endeavoured by 
a great show of assurance to make the best of a position 
which was more than precarious. 

The old hunter alone glanced towards Fabian, as though 
to ask what motive this man, with his impudent and sinister 
manner, and his beard covered with greenish mud, could offer 
for thus intruding himself upon them. 

“ It is Cuchillo,” said Fabian, answering Bois-Rose’s look. 

“ Cuchillo, your unworthy servant,” continued the bandit, 
“ who has been a witness to your prowess, most worthy 
hunter of tigers. Decidedly,” thought Cuchillo, “my pres- 
ence is not so obnoxious to them as I should have supposed.” 

Then feeling his assurance redoubled at the reception he 
had met with, which though cold and silent as that with 


LYNCH law. 


397 


which every new comer is received in the house of death, 
still gave him courage to say observing the severe expression 
on every face : 

“ Pardon me, gentlemen ! I observe you have business in 
hand, and I am perhaps intruding ; I will retire. There are 
moments when one does not like to be disturbed : I know it 
by experience.” 

Saying these words, Cuchillo showed his intention of cross- 
ing a second time the green inclosure of the valley of gold, 
# when Bois-Rose’s rough voice arrested him. 

“ Stay here, as you value the salvation of your soul, master 
Cuchillo,” said the hunter. 

“ The giant may have heard of my intellectual resources,” 
thought Cuchillo. ‘‘They have need of me. After all, 1 
would rather go shares with them than get nothing ; but 
without doubt this Golden Valley is bewitched. You allow, 
master hunter,” he continued, addressing the Canadian, and 
feigning a surprise he did not feel at the aspect of his chief, 
‘‘ I have a ” 

An imperious gestjire from Fabian cut short Cuchillo’s de- 
mand. 

“ Silence !” he said, “ do not distract the last thoughts of 
a Christian who is about to die.” 

We have said that the poignard planted in the ground no 
longer cast a shadow. 

‘‘My Lord of Mediana,” added Fabian, “I ask you once 
again, by the name we bear, by your honour, and the salva- 
tion of your soul, are you innocent of my mother’s murder ?” 

To this lofty interrogation, Don Antonio replied without 
relaxing his haughty demeanour — 

“ I have nothing to say ; to my peers alone I allow the 
right of judgment. Let my fate and yours be accom 
plislied.” 

“God sees and hears me,” said Fabian. Then taking 


398 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Cuchillo aside : “ A solemn sentence has been passed upon 
this man,” said he to him. “We, as the instruments of 
human justice in this desert, command you to be his execu- 
tioner. The treasures contained in this valley will remune* 
rate you for undertaking this terrible duty. May you never 
commit a more iniquitous act!” 

“ One cannot live through forty years without having a 
few little peccadilloes on one’s conscience, Don Tiburcio. 
However, I shall not the less object to being an executioner ; 
and I am proud to know that my talents are estimated at * 
their real value. You promise, then, that all the gold of this 
valley shall be mine ?” 

“ All — without excepting the smallest particle.” 

“ Carramba ! notwithstanding my well-known scruples, it 
is a good price, therefore I shall not hesitate ; and if at the 
same time there is any other little favour you require of me, 
do not distress yourself — it shall be done cheaply.” 

That which has been previously said explains Cuchillo’s 
unexpected appearance. 

The outlaw, concealed upon the borders of the neighbour- 
ing lake, had escaped through the prologue which preceded 
the fearful drama in which he was about to perform a part. 
Taking all things into consideration, he saw that matters 
were turning out better than he had expected. 

However he could not disguise from himself the fact that 
there was a certain amount of danger in his becoming the 
executioner of the man who was aware of all his crimes, and 
who could, by a single word, surrender him to the implaca- 
ble justice enforced in these solitudes. 

He was aware that to gain the promised recompense, and 
to prevent Don Antonio from speaking, it would be necessary 
first to deceive him, and he found means to vhisper in the 
ear of the prisoner — 

“ Fear nothing — I am on your side.” 


LYNCH LAW. 


399 


The spectators of this terrible scene maintained a pro- 
found silence, under a feeling of awe experienced by each of 
them. 

A deep dejection of spirit had, in Don Fabian’s case, suc- 
ceeded the energetic exercise of his will, and his face, bowed 
towards the earth, was as pale and as livid as that of the man 
upon whom he had pronounced sentence of death. 

Bois-Rose — whom the frequent dangers which belonged to 
the life of a sailor and a hunter, had rendered callous to the 
physical horror with which one man looks upon the destruc- 
tion of his fellow — appeared completely absorbed in the con- 
templation of this young man, whom he loved as a son, and 
whose dejected attitude showed the depth of his grief. 

Pepe, on his side, endeavoured to conceal under an 
impenetrable mask the tumultuous feeling resulting from his 
now satisfied vengeance. He, as well as his two companions, 
remained silent. 

Cuchilllo alone — whose sanguinary and vindictive nature 
would have led him to accept gratuitously the odious office 
an executioner — could scarcely conceal his delight at the 
thoughts of the enormous sura he was to receive for the 
wicked service. 

But in this case, for once in his life, Cuchillo was to assist 
in an apparently legal proceeding. 

“ Carramba !” he ejaculated, taking Pepe’s carbine from 
him, and at the same time making a sign to Don Antonio ; 
“this is an affair for which even the judge of Arispe himself 
would be sorry to grant me absolution.” 

He advanced towards Don Antonio. 

Pale, but with flashing eyes ; uncertain whether in Cuchillo 
e beheld a saviour or an executioner, Don Estevan did not 
tir. 

“ It was foretold that I should die in a desert ; I am, what 
you are pleased to call, convicted and condemned. God has 


400 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


reserved for me the infinite disgrace of dying by the hand 
of this man. I forgive you Fabian ; but may not this bandit 
prove as fatal to your life, as he will be to that of your 
father’s brother, as he was — ” 

A cry from Cuchillo — a cry of alarm, her^ interrupted the 
Duke de Armada. 

“ To arms ! To arms ! yonder come tV.o Indians !” cried 
he. 

Fabian, Bois-Rose, and Pep6 rushed to seize their rifles. 
Cuchillo took advantage of this short instant, and sprang 
towards Don Antonio. The latter, wi' h his neck stretched 
forward, was also examining the wide extent of the plain, 
when Cuchillo twice plunged the poignard into his throat. 

The unfortunate Mediana fell to the ground, vomiting forth 
torrents of blood. 

A smile relaxed Cuchillo’s lips : Do 1 Antonio had carried 
out of the world the secret which he dreaded. 



Fabian, Bois-Rose, and Pepe rushed to seize their rifles. Cuchillo took advantage 
of this short instant, and sprang towards Don Antonio. The latter, with his neck 
stretched forward, was also examining the wide extent of the plain, when Cuchillo 
twice plunged the poignard into his throat. — Page 400. 





























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THE JUDGMENT OF GOD. 


401 


CHAPTER LI. 

THE JUDGMENT OF GOD. 

An instant of stupor succeeded to the murder so suddenly 
accomplished. Don Antonio did not stir ; Fabian seemed to 
forget that the bandit had only hastened the execution of the 
sentence which he himself had pronounced. 

“Wretch!” cried he, rushing towards Cuchillo, with the 
barrel of his carbine in his hand, as though he did not deign 
to raise its butt against the executioner. 

“ There, there !” said Cuchillo, drawing back, whilst Pepe, 
more ready to acquit Don Antonio’s murderer, interposed 
between them ; “ you are as quick and passionate as a fight- 
ing-cock, and ready every instant to sport your horns, like a 
young bull. The Indians are too busy elsewhere to trouble 
themselves about us. It was a stratagem of war, to enable 
me more speedily to render you the signal service required 
of me. Do not therefore be ungrateful ; for, why not admit 
it ? you were just now a nephew, most unsufferably encum- 
bered with an uncle ; you are noble, you are generous ; you 
would have regretted all your life that you had not pardoned 
that uncle ? By cutting the matter short for you, I have 
taken the remorse upon myself ; and so the affair is ended.” 

“The rascal knows what he is about, undoubtedly,” re- 
marked the ex-carabinier. 

“Yes,” replied Cuchillo, evidently flattered, “I pride 
myself upon being no fool, and upon having some notion of 
the scruples of conscience. I have taken your doubts upon 


402 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


mine. When I take a fancy to people, I sacrifice myself for 
them. It is a fault of mine. When I saw, Don Tiburcio, 
that you had so generously pardoned me the blow — the 
scratch I inflicted upon you — I did my best to deserve it : 
the rest must be settled between me and my conscience.” 

“ Ah !” sighed Fabian, “ I had hoped yet to have been 
able to pardon him.” 

“ Why trouble yourself about it ?” said the ex-carabinier. 
“ Pardon your mother’s murderer, Don Fabian ! it would 
have been cowardice ! To kill a man who cannot defend 
himself, is, I grant, almost a crime, even after five years’ 
imprisonment. Our friend Cuchillo has saved us the embar- 
rassment of choosing : that is his affair. What do you say, 
Bois-Rose ?” 

“ With proofs such as those we possess, the tribunal of a 
city would have condemned the assassin to atone for his 
crime ; and Indian justice could not have done less. It was 
God’s will that you should be spared the necessity of shed- 
ding the blood of a white man. I say as you do, Pepe, it is 
Cuchillo’s affair.” 

Fabian inclined his head, without speaking, in acquies- 
cence to the old hunter’s verdict — as though in his own heart 
he could not determine, amidst such conflicting thoughts, 
whether he ought to rejoice, or to grieve over this unex- 
pected catastrophe. 

Nevertheless, a shade of bitter regret overspread his coun- 
tenance ; but accustomed, as well as his two companions, to 
scenes of blood, he assented, though with a sigh, to their 
inexorable logic. 

In the meantime, Cuchillo had regained all his audacity ; 
things were turning out well for him. 

He cast a glance of satisfied hatred upon the corpse of him 
who could never more speak, and muttered in a low voice : 

“ Why trouble one’s self about human destiny?— foi 


THE JUDGMENT OP GOD. 


40S 


twenty years past, my life has depended upon nothing more 
than the absence of a tree.” 

Then addressing himself to Fabian : 

“ It is, then, agreed, that I have rendered you a great 
service. Ah ! Don Tiburcio, you must resolve to remain in 
my debt. I think generously of furnishing you with the 
means of discharging it. There is immense wealth yonder ; 
therefore it would not do for you to recall a promise given 
to him who, for your sake, was not afraid — for the first time, 
let me tell you — to come to an open rupture with hie con- 
science.” 

Cuchillo, who, notwithstanding the promise Fabian had 
made — to satisfy his cupidity by the possession of the gold, 
— knew that to make a promise, and to keep one, are two 
different things. He waited the reply with anxiety. 

“ It is true ; the price of blood is yours,” said Fabian to 
the bandit. 

Cuchillo assumed an indignant air. 

“Well, you will be magnificently recompensed,” continued 
the young man, contemptuously ; “ but it shall never be said 
that I shared it with you : — the gold of this place is yours.” 

“ All ?” cried Cuchillo, who could not believe his ears. 

“ Have I not said so ?” 

“You are mad!” exclaimed Pepe and BoisRose, simul- 
taneously ; “ the fellow would have killed him for nothing !” 

“ You are a god !” cried Cuchillo ; “ and you estimate my 
scruples at their real value. What ! all this gold ?” 

“ All, including the smallest particle,” answered Fabian, 
solemnly : “ I shall have nothing in common with you — not 
even this gold.” 

And he made a sign to Cuchillo to leave the ground. 

The bandit, instead of passing through the hedge of cotton- 
trees, took the road to the Misty Mountains, towards the spot 
where his horse was fastened. 


404 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


A few minutes afterwards he returned with his serape in 
his hand. He drew aside the interlacing branches which 
shut in the valley, and soon disappeared, from Fabian’s sight. 
The sun, in the midst of his course, poured down a flood of 
light, causing the gold spread over the surface of the valley 
to shoot forth innumerable rays. 

A shudder passed though Cuchillo’s veins, as he once more 
beheld it. 

His heart beat quick at the sight of this mass of wealth. 
He resembled the tiger which falling upon a sheepfold cannot 
determine which victim to choose. He encompassed with a 
haggard glance the treasures spread at his feet ; and little 
was wanting to induce him, in his transports of joy, to roll 
himself in these floods of gold. 

Soon, however, restored to calmer thoughts, he spread his 
mantle on the sand ; and as he saw the impossibility of car- 
rying away all the riches exposed to his view, he cast around 
him a glance of observation. 

In the meantime, Diaz, seated at some distance on the 
plain, had not lost a single detail of this melancholy scene. 

He had seen Cuchillo suddenly appear, he had imagined 
the part he would be required to fulfil, he heard the bandit’s 
cry of false alarm, and even the bloody catastrophe of the 
drama had not been unseen by him. 

Until then he had remained motionless in his place, mourn- 
ing over the death of his chief, and the hopes which that 
death had destroyed. 

Cuchillo had disappeared from their sight, when the three 
hunters saw Diaz rise and approach them. 

He advanced with slow steps, like the justice of God ; 
whose instrument he was about to become. 

His arm was passed through his horse’s bridle ; and his 
face, clouded by grief, was turned downwards. 

The adventurer cast a look full of sadness upon the Duke 


THE JUDGMENT OF GOD. 


405 


do Armada lying in his blood ; death had not effaced from 
that countenance its look of unalterable pride. 

“ I do not blame you,” said he ; “ in your place I should 
have done the same thing. How much Indian blood have I 
also not spilt to satisfy my vengeance !” 

“ It is holy bread,” interrupted Bois-Rose, passing his hand 
through his thick grey hair, and directing a sympathetic 
glance toward the adventurer. “ Pepe and I can say that, 
for our part ” 

“ I do not blame you, friends, but I grieve because I have 
seen this man, of such noble courage, fall almost before my 
eyes ; a man who held in his hand the destiny of Sonora. I 
grieve that the glory of my country expires with him.” 

“ He was, as you say, a man of noble courage, but with a 
heart of stone. May God save his soul !” 

A convulsive grief agitated Hon Fabian’s breast. Diaz 
continued the Duke de Armada’s funeral oration. 

*' He and I had dreamed of the freedom of a noble pro- 
vince and days of splendour. Neither he, nor I, nor others, 
will ever now behold them shine. Ah ! why was not I killed 
instead of him ? No one would have known that I had 
ceased to exist, and one champion less would not have com- 
promised the cause we served ; but the death of our chief 
ruins it for ever. The treasure which is said to be accumu- 
lated here might have aided us in restoring Sonora ; for you 
do not, perhaps, know that near to this spot — ” 

“ We know it,” interrupted Fabian. 

“ Well,” continued Diaz, “ I will think no more about this 
immense treasure. I have always preferred the life of an 
Indian, killed by my own hands, to a sack of gold dust.” 

This common feeling of hatred towards the Indians still 
further added to the sympathy which Bois-Rose had felt for 
the disinterestedness and courage shown by Diaz. 

“We have failed at the onset,” continued Diaz, in a tona 


406 


THE WOOD*RANGERS. 


of great bitterness, “and all this through the fault of a 
traitor whom I wish to deliver up to your justice — not 
because he deceived us, but because he has destroyed the 
instrument which God was willing to grant, in order to make 
my country a powerful kingdom.” 

“ What do you say ?” cried Fabian ; “ is it Cuchillo of 
whom you speak ?” 

“The traitor who twice attempted your life — the first 
time at the Hacienda del Venado, the second in the neigh- 
bouring forest — is the one who conducted us to this valley 
of gold.” 

“It was then Cuchillo who told you the secret! I was 
almost sure of it — but are you also certain ?” 

“ As certain as I am that I shall one day appear before 
God. Poor Don Estevan related to me how the existence 
and position of the treasure became known to Cuchillo ; it 
was in assassinating his associate who had first discovered it. 

“ And now if you decide that this man who has twice at- 
tempted your life deserves exemplary punishment, you have 
only to determine upon it.” 

As he finished these words, Pedro Diaz tightened his 
horse’s girths, and prepared to depart. 

“ One word more !” cried Fabian, “ has Cuchillo long pos- 
sessed this grey horse, which, as you may be aware, has a 
habit of stumbling ?” 

“ More than two years from what I have heard.” 

This last scene had escaped the bandit’s observation, the 
thicket of cotton-trees concealing it from his sight ; besides, 
he was too much absorbed in the contemplation of his trea- 
sures to turn his eyes away from them. 

Seated upon the sand, ho was crouched down amidst the 
innumerable pieces of gold which surrounded him, and he 
had already begun to pile up upon his serape, all tho«*. he had 
chosen, when Diaz finished his terrible revelation. 


THE JUDGMENT OF GOD. 


407 


“ Ah ! it is a fearful and fatal day,” said Fa Jian, in whoso 
mind the latter part of this revelation left no room for doubt. 
“What ought I do with this man? You, who both know 
what he has done with my adopted father, Pepe — Bois- 
Rose — advise me, for my strength and resolution are coming 
to an end. I have experienced too many emotions for one 
day.” 

“Does the vile wretch, who cut your father’s throat, 
deserve more consideration than the noble gentleman, who 
murdered your mother, my son ?” answered the Canadian, 
resolutely. 

“ Whether it be your adopted father or any others who 
have been his victims, this brigand is worthy of death,” 
added Diaz, as he mounted upon his saddle, “ and I abandon 
him to your justice.” 

“ It is with regret that I see you depart,” said Bois-Rose 
to the adventurer, “ a man who like yourself is a bitter 
enemy to the Indians, would have been a companion whose 
society I should have appreciated.” 

“ My duty recalls me to the camp, which I quitted under 
the influence of Don Estevan’s unhappy star,” replied the 
adventurer, “ but there are two things I shall never forget ; 
they are, the conduct of generous enemies, and the oath I 
have taken never to revoai to a living creature the existence 
of this Golden Valley.” 

As he finished these words, the loyal Diaz quickly with- 
drew, reflecting upon the means of reconciling his respect 
for his word, with the care and safety of the expedition 
entrusted to him by its leader, previous to his death. 

The three friends speedily lost sight of him. 

The sun shone out, and, glancing down from the Golder 
Valley, discovered Cuchillo, greedily bending over his trea 
sures, and the three hurte~s i»ol<haa: c«uivu] th^m 

selves respecting tin? 


408 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Fabian had listened in silence to Bois-Rose’s advice, as 
well as that given by Diaz previous to his departure ; and he 
only waited the counsel of the old carabinier. 

“ You have taken,” said the latter, in his turn, “ a vow, 
from which nothing ought to release you ; the wife of Arel- 
lanos received it from you on her death-bed ; you have her 
husband’s murderer in your power ; there is nothing here to 
deny it.” 

Then, observing a look of anxious indecision in Fabian’s 
countenance, he added, with that bitter irony which formed 
a part of his character : “ But after all, if this duty is so 
repugnant to you, I shall undertake it ; for not having the 
least ill will against Cuchillo, I can hang him without a 
scruple. You will see, Fabian, that the knave will not 
testify any surprise at what I am going to tell him. Fel- 
lows who have such a face as Cuchillo’s expect to be hung 
every day.” 

As he concluded this judicious reflexion, Pepe approached 
the green hedge, which separated them from the out- 
law. 

The latter, unconscious of all that had taken place around 
him — dazzled, blinded, by the golden rays, which reflected 
the sun’s light over the surface of the valley — had heard and 
seen nothing. 

With fingers doubled up, he was busied rummaging 
amongst the sand with the eagerness of a famished jackal 
disinterring a corpse. 

“Master Cuchillo! a word, if you please,” cried Pepe, 
drawing aside the branches of the cotton shrubs ; “ Master 
Cuchillo !” 

But Cuchillo did not hear. 

It was only when he had been called three times that he 
turned around, and discovered his excited countenance to 
the carabinier — after having, by a spontaneous movement of 


THE JUDGMENT OP GOD. 


409 


suspicion, thrown a corner of his mantle over the gold he had 
collected. 

“ Master Cuchillo,” resumed Pepe, “ I heard you a little 
while ago give utterance to a philosophical maxim, which 
gave me the highest opinion of your character.” 

“ Come !” said Cuchillo to himself, wiping the sweat from 
his forehead, “ here is some one else who requires my ser 
vices. These gentry are becoming imprudent, but, por 
Dios ! they pay handsomely.” 

Then aloud : 

“ A philosophical maxim ?” said he, throwing away dis- 
dainfully, a handful of sand, the contents of which would 
elsewhere have rejoiced a gold seeker. “ What is it ? I 
utter many, and of the best kind ; philosophy is my strong 
point.” 

Pepe, on one side of the hedge, resting upon his rifle, in a 
superb attitude of nonchalance, and the most imperturbable 
sang froid, and Cuchillo, on the other side, with his head 
stretched across the green inclosure of the little valley, looked 
very much like two country neighbours, for the moment chat- 
ting familiarly together. 

No one, on seeing them thus, would have suspected the 
terrible catastrophe which was to follow this pacific intercourse. 
The countenance of the ex-carabinier, only exhibited a gra- 
cious smile. 

“ You spoke truth,” replied Pepe. “ What signifies human 
destiny ; for twenty years past you say you have owed your 
life to the absence of a tree ?” 

“It is true,” affirmed Cuchillo, in an absent tone, “for a 
long time I preferred shrubs, but lately I have become recon- 
ciled to large trees.” 

“ Indeed !” 

“ And yet it is still one of my favourite maxims, that a 
wise man must pass over many little inconveniences.” 

18 


410 


THE WOOD-EANGEES. 


“ True, And now I think of it,” added Pepe, carelessly, 
“ there an on the summit of yonder steep hill, two magni- 
ficent pine trees which project over the abyss, and which 
twenty years ago, might have caused you very serious 
anxiety.” 

“ I do not deny it ; but at present I am as easy about it 
as if they were only cactus plants.” 

“ Indeed !” 

“ Indeed !” repeated Cuchillo, with some impatience. “ So 
then, you did me the honour to speak of me, and to what 
purpose ?” 

“ Oh ! a simple remark. My two companions and myself 
had some reasons for suspecting that amongst these moun- 
tains a certain valley of gold was to be found ; but neverthe- 
less, it was only after long seeking that we found it. You 
also know it now, and even better than ourselves, since, 
unhesitatingly, and without losing an instant, you have ap- 
propriated to yourself, between what you call a heap and 
what you have already collected, carramba — enough to build 
a church to your patron saint.” 

Cuchillo, at the recollection of the imprudence he had been 
guilty of, and at this indirect attack, felt his legs give way 
under him. 

“ It is certainly my intention not to employ this gold to 
any other purpose than a godly one,” said he, concealing his 
anguish as well as he could. “As to the knowledge of this 
wonderful valley, it is to — it is to chance that I owe it.” 

“ Chance always comes to the assistance of virtue,” replied 
v epe, coldly. “Well, in your place, I should not, never- 
cUeless, be without anxiety touching the vicinity of those two 
r me trees.” 

“ What do you mean ?” cried Cuchillo, turning pale. 

“Nothing — unless this may prove to you one of those 
trifling inconveniences, about which you just now said a man 


THE JUDGMENT OP GOD. 


411 


snould not trouble himself. Por Dios! you have enough 
booty to render a king jealous.” 

“But I acquired this gold legitimately — I committed no 
murder to obtain it. What I did was not worthless. The 
devil! I am not in the habit of killing for nothing,” cried 
Cuchillo, exasperated, and who, mistaking the carabinier’s 
intentions, saw only in his alarming inuendoes regret at hia 
defrauded cupidity. 

Like the sailor, who, overtaken by a storm, throws a part 
of his cargo overboard to save the rest, Cuchillo resolved 
with a sigh, to shun, by means of a sacrifice, the danger with 
which he was threatened. 

“ I again repeat to you,” said he, in a low voice, “ chance 
alone gave me a knowledge of this treasure ; but I don’t wish 
to be selfish. It is my intention to give you a share. Lis- 
ten,” he continued, “ there is in a certain place, a block of 
gold of inestimable value ; honest fellows should understand 
one another, and this block shall be yours. Ah ! your share 
will be better than mine.” 

“ I hope so,” said Pepe ; “ and in what place have you 
reserved me my portion ?” 

“ Up yonder !” said Cuchillo, indicating the summit of the 
pyramid. 

“ Up yonder, near the pine trees ? Ah, master Cuchillo, 
how glad I am to find that you have not taken my foolish lit- 
tle joke amiss, and that these trees do not affect you any 
more than if they w r ere cactus plants ! Between ourselves, 
Don Tiburcio, whom you perceive to be deeply absorbed, is 
only regretting in reality the enormous sum he has given you, 
for a service which he could equally well have performed 
himself.” 

u An enormous sum ! it was but a very fair price, and at 
any rate I should have lost it,” cried Cuchillo, recovering all 
his habitual impudence of manner, on seeing the change that 


412 


TTIE WOOD-RANGERS. 


had taken place in the conduct and tone of the ex-cara. 
binier. 

“ Agreed,” continued the latter ; “ but in truth, he may 
have repented of the bargain ; and I must avow that if he 
commanded me to blow your brains out, in order to get rid 
of you, I should be compelled to obey him. Allow me, then, 
to call him here so as to restore his confidence ; or, better 
still, come and show me the portion, which your munificence 
destines for me. Afterwards we each go our own way; and 
notwithstanding all you have said about it, the share assigned 
to you will surpass all your expectations.” 

“ Let us set off then,” resumed Cuchillo, happy to see a 
negotiation — the probable result of which began to cause 
him serious uneasiness — terminate so satisfactorily for him •, 
and, casting a glance of passionate tenderness upon a heap of 
gold which he had piled up upon his wrapper, he set off 
towards the summit of the pyramid. He had scarcely 
reached it, when, upon Pepe’s invitation, Fabian and Bois- 
Rose began to ascend the steep on the other side. 

“No one can escape his fate,” said Pepe to Fabian, “and 
I had already proved to you that the rascal would testify no 
astonishment. Be that as it may, remember that you have 
sworn to avenge the death of your adopted father, and that 
in these deserts you ought to shame the justice of cities, 
where such crimes go unpunished. To show mercy towards 
such a knave is an outrage to society ! Bois-Rose ! I shall 
need the assistance of your arm.” 

The Canadian hunter, by a glance, interrogated him, for 
whom his blind devotion knew no bounds. 

“ Marcos Arellanos craved pardon and did not obtain it,” 
said Fabian, no longer undecided, “ and as this man did to 
others, so let it be done to him.” 

And these three inexorable men seated themselves solemnly 
upon the summit of the pyramid, where Cuchillo already 


THE JUDGMENT OF GOD. 


413 


awaited them. At sight of the severe aspect of those whom 
he had inwardly so many reasons to dread, Cuchillo felt all 
his apprehensions renewed. He endeavoured, however, Is 
recover his assurance. 

“Do you see,” said he, pointing out behind the sheet of 
water, whose majestic torrent foamed beside them, “ the spot 
where the block of gold sheds forth its dazzling rays ?” 

But the eyes of his judges did not turn in the direction he 
indicated. Fabian rose slowly ; his look caused the blood to 
curdle in the veins of the outlaw. 

“Cuchillo!” said he, you saved me from dying of thiist, 
and you have not done this for one who is ungrateful. I have 
forgiven you the stab with which you wounded me at the 
Hacienda del V enado. I have pardoned another attempt you 
made near El Salto de Agua; also the shot which you only 
could have fired upon us from the summit of this pyramid. 
I might, in short, have forgiven every attempt you have made 
to take away a life you once saved ; and with having pardoned 
you, I have even recompensed you, as a king does not recom- 
pense the executioner of his justice.” 

“ I do not deny it ; but this worthy hunter, who has in- 
formed me with a great deal of circumspection upon the 
delicate subject you wish to touch upon, ought also to inform 
you how reasonable he found me in the matter.” 

“I have forgiven you,” continued Fabian, “but there is 
one crime, amongst others, from which your own conscience 
ought not to absolve you.” 

“ There is a perfect understanding between my conscience 
and myself,” resumed Cuchillo, with a graciously sinister 
smile, “ but it seems to me that we are getting away from 
our subject.” 

“ That friend whom you assassinated in such a cowardly 
manner ” 

“ Disputed with me the profits of a booty, and faith, the 


414 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


consumption of brandy was very considerable,” interrupted 
Cuchillo. “ But permit me ” 

“Do not pretend to misunderstand me!” cried Fabian, 
irritated by the knave’s impudence. 

Cuchillo collected his thoughts. 

“ If you allude to Tio Tomas, it is an affair which was 
never very well understood, but ” 

Fabian opened his lips to form a distinct accusation with 
reference to the assassination of Arellanos, when Pepe broke 
in — 

“ I should be curious,” he said, “ to learn the real facts con- 
cerning Tio Tomas : perhaps Master Cuchillo has not sufficient 
leisure to recollect himself, which would be a pity.” 

“ I hold it necessary,” continued Cuchillo, flattered at the 
compliment, “ to prove that men own such a susceptible con- 
science as mine ; here then are the facts — My friend Tio 
Tomas had a nephew impatient to inherit his uncle’s fortune ; 
I received a hundred dollars from the nephew to hasten the 
moment of his inheritance. It was very little for such a 
capital will. 

“It was so little that I gave Tio Tomas warning, and 
received two hundred dollars to prevent his nephew becom- 
ing his heir. I committed a fault in — despatching the nephew 
without giving him warning, as I ought to have done, perhaps. 
It was then I felt how inconvenient a quarrelsome conscience 
like mine may become. I seized upon the only means of 
composition which was left me. The nephew’s money was 
a continual remorse to me, and I resolved to get rid 
of it.” 

“ Of the money ?” 

“ Not so.” 

“ And you despatched the uncle as well ?” cried Pepe. 

Cuchillo assented. 

“From that time my conscience had but little to reproach 


THE JUDGMENT OF GOD. 


415 


me wnh. I had gained three hundred dollars by the most 
Ingenious integrity.” 

Cuchillo was yet smiling, when Fabian exclaimed — 

“ Were you paid for assassinating Marcos Arellanos?’ 

At this astounding accusation a livid paleness overspread 
Uuchillo’s features. 

He could no longer disguise from himself the fate that 
awaited him. 

The bandage which covered his eyes fell suddenly ; and to 
the flattering delusions with which he had deceived himself 
succeeded a formidable reality. 

“ Marcos Arellanos !” he stammered out in a weak voice, 
“ who told you that ? I did not kill him !” 

Fabian smiled bitterly. 

“ Who tells the shepherd,” he cried, u where the den of 
the jaguar is to be found that devours his sheep ? 

“ Who tells the vaquero where the horse that he pursues 
has taken refuge ? 

“ To the Indian, the enemy he seeks ? 

“ To the gold-seeker the ore, concealed by God ? 

“ The surface of the lake only does not preserve the trace 
of the bird which flies over its waters, nor the form of the 
cloud which it reflects; but the earth, with its herbs and 
mosses, reveals to us sons of the desert, the print of the 
jaguar’s foot as well as the horse’s hoof and the Indian’s 
track ; do you not know it, even as I do ?” 

“ I did not kill Arellanos,” repeated the assassin. 

“ You did kill him ; you cut his throat near to our common 
country; you threw his corpse into the river; the earth 
revealed it to me — since I noticed the defect in the horse you 
rode, as well as the wound in your leg, which you received 
in the struggle.” 

“Pardon, Don Tiburcio!” cried Cuctillo, overwhelmed by 
the sudden revelation of these facts, to which God alone had 


410 


THE WOOD-HANGERS. 


been witness. “ Take back all the gold you gave me, but 
spare my life ; and to show my gratitude, I will kill all your 
enemies everywhere, and always at a sign from you — for 
nothing — even my father, if you command me ; but in the 
name of the all powerful God, spare my life — spare me my 
life !” he continued, crawling forward and clutching at 
Fabian’s kne^s. 

“ Arellanos also craved for mercy ; did you listen to him ?” 
said Fabian, turning away. 

“ But when I killed him, it was that I might possess all 
this gold myself. Now I restore it all for my life — what can 
you want more?” he continued, while he resisted Pepe’s 
efforts, who was trying to prevent him from kissing Fabian’s 
feet. 

With features distorted by excess of terror, a whitish foam 
upon his lips, his eyes starting from his head, yet seeing 
nothing, Cuchillo still sued for mercy, as he endeavoured to 
crawl towards Fabian. He had by continued efforts reached 
the edge of the platform. Behind his head, the sheet of 
water fell foaming downwards. 

“ Mercy, mercy !” he cried, “ in the name of your mother 
— for Dona Rosarita’s sake, who loves you, for I know that 
she loves you — I heard ” 

“ What ?” cried Fabian, in his turn rushing towards 
Cuchillo, but the questien expired upon his lips. 

Spurned along the earth by the carabinier’s foot, Cuchillo 
with head and arms stretched back was hurled into the 
abyss ! 

“ What have you done, Pepe ?” exclaimed Fabian. 

“ The wretch,” said the ex-carabinier, was not worth the 
cord which might have hung him, nor the bullet that would 
have sent him out of the world. 

A piercing cry, — a cry which rose from the abyss — which 
drowned their voices and was heard above the roar of the 


THE MAN OF THE RED KERCHIEF. 


417 


cascade, caused Fabaian to stretch his head forward and 
withdraw it again in horror. Hanging to the branches of 
a shrub which bent beneath his weight, and which scarce 
adhering to the sides of the rock, was fast giving way, 
Cuchillo hung over the abyss, howling forth his terror and 
anguish. 

“Help !” he shouted, in a voice despairing as the damned. 
“ Help ! if you are human beings — help !” 

The three friends exchanged a glance of unutterable mean- 
ing, as each one wiped the sweat from his brow. 

Suddenly the bandit’s voice grew faint, and amidst horri- 
ble bursts of laughter, like the shrieks of a lunatic, were 
heard the last inarticulate words that escaped his lips. 

A moment after, and the noise of the cascade alone broke 
the silence of the desert. The abyss had swallowed up him, 
whose life had been a long tissue of crime. 


CHAPTER LII. 

THE MAN OF THE RED KERCHIEF. 

Six months have elapsed since the three hunters, without 
deigning to carry with them a single grain of the treasures 
of the valley of gold, directed their steps, following the 
course of the Rio Gila, to the plains of Texas. The rainy had 
succeeded to the dry season, without anything being known 
of their fate, or of the expedition commanded by Don Este- 
van de Arecliiza. 

Diaz was no more, having carried with him to the tomb the 
secret of the wonderful valley — and Gayferos had followed 
his throe liberators. What had become jf these intrepid 
hunters who had willingly encountered fatigues, privations 

18 * 


418 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


and dangers, instead of returning to civilived Life ? Were 
they as rich and powerful as they might have been ? Had 
the desert claimed these three noble spirits, as it has done so 
many others ? Like the monk, who seeks in the silence of 
the cloister forgetfulness of the world’s vain show, had Fabian 
in the sublimity of solitude been able to forget the woman 
who loved him, and who secretly hoped for and expected 
his return ? 

What we are about to relate will answer these questions. 

One sultry afternoon, two men, mounted and armed to the 
teeth, pursued the lonely road which leads from the utmost 
confines of the province of Sonora to the Presidio of Tubac. 
Their costume, the coarse equipment of their steeds, and the 
beauty of the latter, formed on the whole a striking contrast, 
and seemed to indicate subalterns despatched by some rich 
proprietor, either to carry or to seek information. 

The first was clothed in leather from head to foot, like the 
vaquero of some noble hacienda ; the second, dark and 
bearded like a Moor, though less simply attired than his 
companion, did not appear to be of much greater considera- 
tion. 

At the end of a journey of some days the white houses of 
the Presidio began to appear in the distance. The two cava- 
liers had probably exhausted every subject of conversation, 
for they trotted on in silence. 

The scanty vegetation which covered the plains they were 
crossing was again becoming parched by the sun, after the 
winter rains; and the dry grass harboured innumerable grass- 
hoppers, whose shrill note was heard incessantly, mingled 
with the scorching breath of the south wind. The foliage 
of the Peruvian trees drooped languidly over the burning 
sand, like the willows upon the banks of a stream. 

The two cavaliers arrived at the entrance of the Presidio 
just as the church clock sounded the evening angelus . 


THE MAN OF THE RED KERCHIEF. 


419 


Tubac was then a village with two cross streets, its houses 
built of cement, with only a few windows in the front, as is 
the custom in places exposed to the sudden excursions of the 
Indians. Strong moveable barriers, formed by trunks of trees, 
protected the four approaches to the village ; and a piece of 
the artillery of the country, raised upon its carriage, was 
erected behind each of these barriers. 

Previous to following the new comers into the Presidio, we 
must relate an incident which, insignificant in itself, never- 
theless acquired some importance in the heart of a solitary 
village of Tubac. 

During the space of a fortnight a mysterious personage — 
inasmuch as he was unknown to the inhabitants of the Presidio 
• — had frequently, and for a short time, appeared there. He 
was a man of about forty years of age, thin, but rough and 
vigorous in appearance, whose countenance seemed to tell of 
dangers overcome, but whose speech was as rare as his phy- 
siognomy was expressive. He replied shortly to any ques- 
tions addressed to him ; but, on the other hand, he asked a 
great many, and appeared particularly anxious to know what 
was passing at the Hacienda del V enado. 

Some of the inhabitants of the Presidency knew the rich 
proprietor very well by repute, but few amongst them — or, 
one might rather say, none of them — were so thoroughly 
acquainted with Don Augustin Pena, as to be capable of 
answering the questions of the stranger. 

Everybody in Tubac remembered the gold-seekers’ expe- 
dition which had set out six months previously ; and accor- 
ing to some vague replies given by the mysterious personage, 
it was suspected that he knew more upon the matter than he 
chose to reveal. He had, he pretended, encountered in the 
deserts of the Apache country, a troop commanded by Don 
Estevan in a very critical position, and he had reason for 
believing that they must have fought a last and terrible eu 


420 


THE WOOD-BANGERS. 


gagement with the Indians, from the result cf which he 
augured no good. 

The evening before the arrival of the two travellers, he 
had inquired what direction he ought to take to reach Don 
Augustin’s house ; and, above all, he had testified a great 
wish to learn whether Dona Rosarita was still unmarried. 

The unknown always wore on his head a red chequered 
handkerchief, the folds of which hung down over his eyes ; 
and in consequence of this headdress he always went by the 
name of the “ man with the red kerchief.” 

This being explained, let us now return to our two travel- 
lers. 

The new comers — whose arrival created some sensation — 
on entering the presidency, directed their steps towards 
one of the houses of the village, at the door of which sat a 
man, who was soothing his leisure hours by playing upon the 
guitar. 

One of the cavaliers, addressing him, said — 

“ Santas tardes / my master ; will you afford hospitality 
to two strangers for a day and a night '?” 

The musician rose and bowed courteously. 

“ Pray dismount, noble cavaliers,” he answered, “ this 
dwelling is at your service as long as you please to remain.” 

Such is the simple ceremonial of hospitality still in vogue 
in these distant countries. 

The cavaliers dismounted from their horses, in the midst 
of an idle group who had collected around them, and who 
observed the two strangers with considerable curiosity — for 
in the Presidio of Tubac an arrival is a rare event. 

The host silently assisted his guests to unsaddle their 
horses, but the more inquisitive of the crowd did not exer- 
cise so much discretion, and without scruple addressed a 
multitude of questions to the travellers. 

u Good people,” said one of the cavaliers, “ let as first 


THE MAN OF THE RED KERCHIEF. 


421 


attend to our horses, and afterwards, when we have taken a 
mouthful of food, we shall have a chat. My comrade and 
myself have come here for that very purpose.” 

Thus saying, the bearded cavalier unfastened his gigantio 
spurs, threw them across his horse’s saddle, which he depo- 
sited, together with its woollen covering carefully folded, in 
the piazza attached to the house. 

The two strangers did not dwell long over their repast. 
They soon rejoined their host upon the threshold, and sat 
down beside him. 

Their questioners had not yet departed from the house. 

“ I am the more inclined,” resumed the bearded traveller, 
“ to inform you all of the object of our visit to the Presidio, 
since we are sent by our master to ask you a few questions. 
Will that be agreeable to you ?” 

“ Perfectly,” replied several voices, “ and first, may we 
know who your master is ?” 

“ He is Don Augustin Pena ; you are not without some 
knowledge of his name ?” 

“The proprietor of the great Hacienda del Yenado — a 
man worth three millions ! Who does not know him ?” 
replied one of the bystanders. 

“He is the same. This cavalier, whom you see, is a 
vaquero, entrusted with the care of the beasts of the haci- 
enda ; for myself, I am a majordomo attached to the service 
of the proprietor. Would you have the kindness, my dear 
friend, to give me a light for my cigar?” continued the 
bearded majordomo. 

He paused to light his cigar of maize husk, and then re- 
sumed : 

“ Six months ago an expedition set out from here in search 
of gold dust. This expedition was headed by one named- 
let me see — carrai ! I have heard him called by so many 
names that I cannot remember any !” 


422 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Don Estevan Arechiza ?” replied one of the interlocutors, 
“ a Spaniard, and one such as we do not often see in this 
country ; one who seemed, by his noble deportment and 
majestic countenance, to have commanded all his life.” 

“ Don Estevan Arechiza: the very same,” said the major- 
domo, “ a man who as far exceeds all others in generosity 
as a gamester who has just won a fortune. But let me 
return to the expedition ; about how many men composed it, 
do you guess ?” 

“ More than eighty started out with it.” 

“ More than a hundred,” suggested another. 

“ You are mistaken — the number was not a hundred in 
all,” interrupted a third. 

“ That matters little to Don Augustin, my master. It is 
far more important to know how many returned.” 

Upon this point also there were two different opinions. 

“Not a single one,” remarked a voice. 

“ Yes; there was one, and but one,” continued another. 

The majordomo rubbed his hands with an air of satisfac* 
tion. 

“ Good !” said he, “ then at least one is saved, provided 
this gentleman, who declares that all the gold-seekers are not 
dead, be rightly informed, as I hope he is.” 

“ Do you not think,” said the last who had spoken, “ that 
the man of the red handkerchief may not be one of those 
whose departure we witnessed six months ago ? I would 
swear to it by the cross and Gospel.” 

“ No ! not so !” cried another, “ that man never set foot in 
the Presidio before the other day.” 

“ In any case,” interrupted a third, “ the man of the red 
handkerchief has doubtless something of interest in store 
for Don Augustin Pena, since he has so often inquired about 
him. With these gentlemen, he will probably be more com 
municative than with us.” 


THE MAN OF THE RED KERCHIEF. 


423 


“ That will be just what we desire,” resumed the major 
domo. 

“ You must know, then, and I may without indiscretion 
inform you,” continued he, “that Don Augustin Pena, whom 
God preserve, was the intimate friend of Senor Arechiza, and 
that he has had no news of him for six months past, which 
would be natural enough if he has been massacred by the 
Indians with all the rest. But my master is anxious for his 
return, that he may marry his daughter, Dona Rosarita, a 
beautiful and charming person, to the Senator Don Vicente 
Tragaduros. Months have elapsed, and since the hacienda 
is not on the main road from Arispe to Tubac, and that we 
cannot gain information from any one upon the subject of 
this deplorable expedition, Don Augustin determined upon 
sending us here to inquire about it. When he shall have 
established the fact that Don Estevan’s return is impossible 
— and as young girls do not readily meet with Senators 
in the heart of the desert — nor do the latter often find there 
girls whose marriage portion is worth two hundred thousand 
piastres — ” 

“ Carramba ! that is a high figure.” 

“ True, friend,” continued the majordomo, “ then the pro- 
jected marriage will take place to the mutual satisfaction of 
all parties. Such is the object of our journey to Tubac. If, 
therefore, you can conduct me to him whom you describe as 
the sole survivor of this expedition, we shall perhaps learn 
from him what we wish to discover.” 

The conversation had reached this stage, when, at some 
distance from the house where it was taking place, a man 
was seen passing, with his head bent downwards. 

“ See !” said one of the party, pointing to the man in ques- 
tion; “there goes your sole survivor.” 

“ In truth, it is a person whose conduct is sufficiently mys- 
terious,” added the host. “ For some days past he has done 


424 


THE WOOD-EANGEKS. 


nothing but come and go, from one place to another, with- 
out informing any one of the object of his journeyings.” 

“ If it please you, we shall question him ?” proposed one. 

“ Hola ! friend !” cried another of the party ; “ come this 
way ; here is a gentleman who is anxious to see and speak 
with you.” 

The mysterious unknown approached at the summons. 

“ Senor cavalier,” said the majordomo, courteously ad 
dressing him, “ it is not to gratify an idle curiosity that I 
now address you ; but the master whom I serve feels a natu- 
ral anxiety at the disappearance of a friend, whose death he 
would greatly deplore. What do you know of Don Estevan 
de Arechiza ?” 

“ Many things. But, pray what is the name of the master 
of whom you speak ?” 

“Don Augustin Pena — proprietor of the Hacienda del 
Venado.” 

A ray of joy lit up the countenance of the unknown. 

“ I am able,” he said, “ to furnish Don Augustin with all 
the information he may desire. How many days’ journey is 
it from hence to the hacienda ?” 

“ Three days’ journey, with a good horse.” 

“ I possess a capital one ; and if you can wait for me until 
to-morrow evening, I shall accompany you, and communi- 
cate with Don Augustin in person.” 

“ Be it so,” answered the majordomo. 

“Very well,” added the man of the red handkerchief ; “ to 
morrow at this same hour we will start, so that we may 
travel by night, and so escape the heat.” 

Saying this, he took his departure, when the majordomo 
remarked : 

“ It must be agreed, gentlemen, that nothing can exceed 
the complaisance of this cavalier of the red hankerchief.” 

The arrangement did not satisfy the bystanders, who were, 


THE MAN OF THE RED KERCHIEF. 


425 


thoroughly disappointed ; but their interest was renewed, on 
seeing the man of the red handkerchief pass by on horseback, 
and depart at full speed towards the north. 

The unknown kept his promise : and on the day following, 
he returned at the hour of the evening angelus. 

Don Augustin’s two envoys took leave of their host, assur- 
ing him of a kind welcome, if ever his affairs led him in the 
direction of the Hacienda del Yenado. Even the poorest 
in this primitive country, would blush to receive any other 
reward for hospitality than sincere thanks, and a promise 
that they in their turn should receive it. 

The three horsemen set off at full speed ; the horse of the 
unknown equalled in strength and mettle those of Don 
Augustin’s envoys. The journey was rapidly accomplished ; 
and at dawn of the third day, they could trace in the dis- 
tance the clock-tower of the Hacienda del Yenado, and an 
hour afterwards they dismounted in the courtyard. Although 
it was at that early hour when the sun sheds its most en- 
livening rays, everything which surrounded this habitation 
bore the stamp of melancholy. One might have supposed 
that the gloomy nature of the inmates was reflected upon its 
exterior. 

Dona Rosarita was dying of grief; and this filled the 
haciendado with the deepest anxiety. Don Augustin’s 
daughter could not help the belief that Fabian yet lived. 
But why, then, had not Tiburcio, as she always called him, 
returned to the hacienda ? Either he was dead, or he no lon- 
ger loved her! It was this uncertainty that gave rise to 
Dona Rosarita’s deep dejection. 

Another source of anxiety to the haciendado, was the 
absence of all news from the Duke de Armada ; and to this 
anxiety was added impatience. The projected marriage be- 
tween Rosarita and the Senator had been devised by Don 
Estevan. Tragaduros had urged its fulfilment. Don Augus- 


423 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


tin had laid the proposal before his daughter ; but she replied 
only by tears ; and her father still hesitated. 

However, at the expiration of six months, it was deter- 
mined to put an end to the uncertainty by sending to the 
Presidio for information concerning the expedition com- 
manded by Don Estevan. It was the last respite that poor 
Rosarita had ventured to demand. 

The Senator had absented himself for some days from the 
hacienda, when the majordomo returned, and Don Augustin 
was informed of the arrival of a stranger who could 
remove his uncertainty. He ordered the stranger to be in- 
troduced into the chamber already known to the reader ; and 
Dona Rosarita, who had been sent for, speedily joined her 
father. 

In a few moments the stranger presented himself. A wide 
felt hat, to which on entering he raised his hand without re- 
moving it, shaded his face, upon which a keen anxiety was 
visible. From beneath the broad brim of his hat a red hand- 
kerchief fell so low upon his forehead as almost to conceal 
his eyebrows, and from beneath its shadow he gazed with 
a singular interest upon the pale countenance of the young 
girl. 


THE STRANGER’S STORY 


427 


CHAPTER LIII. 

THE STRANGER’S STORY. 

Her head veiled by a silk scarf which partly concealed the 
luxuriant tresses of her dark hair as they fell in luxuriant 
clusters upon her bosom, Dona Rosarita’s countenance gave 
evidence of long and secret suffering. 

As she seated herself, a look of deep disquietude increased 
her paleness. It seemed as though the young girl feared the 
approach of a moment, in which she might be required to 
renounce those sweet dreams of the past, for the reality of a 
future she dared not contemplate. 

When the stranger was also seated the haciendado ad- 
dressed him. 

“We are indebted to you, my friend,” he said, “for 
travelling thus far to bring us news which I have been fore- 
warned may prove of a very sad nature; nevertheless we 
must hear all. God’s will be done !” 

“ My news is in truth sad ; but as you say it is necessary,” 
and the stranger, laying a stress upon these last words, seemed 
to address himself more particularly to Dona Rosarita, “ that 
you should hear all. I have been witness to many things 
yonder; and the desert does not conceal so many secrets as 
one might suppose.” 

The young girl trembled slightly, while she fixed upon the 
man of the red handkerchief, a deep and searching glance. 


428 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Go on, friend,” said she, in her melodious voice, M we 
shall have courage to hear all.” 

“ What do you know of Don Estevan ?” resumed the haci- 
endado. 

M He is dead, Senor.” 

A sigh of grief escaped Don Augustin, and he rested his 
head upon his hands. 

“ Who killed him ?” he asked. 

“ I know not, but he is dead.” 

“ And Pedro Diaz — that man of such noble and disinter- 
ested feeling ?” 

“ He, like Don Estevan, is no more of this world.” 

“And his friends Cuchillo, Oroche, and Baraja?” 

“ Dead as well as Pedro Diaz, all dead except — but with 
your leave, Senor, I shall commence my narrative at an ear- 
lier period. It is necessary that you should know all.” 

“We shall listen to you patiently.” 

“ I need not detail,” resumed the narrator, “ the dangers 
of every kind, nor the various combats in which we were 
engaged since our departure. Headed by a chief who 
inspired us with boundless confidence, we shared his perils 
cheerfully.” 

“ Poor Don Estevan !” murmured the haciendado. 

“During the last halt in which I was present, a report 
spread through the camp that we were in the vicinity of an 
immense treasure of gold. Cuchillo, our guide, deserted us ; 
he was absent two days. It was doubtless God’s will that I 
should be saved, since it inspired Don Estevan with the idea 
of sending me in search of him. He therefore commanded 
me to scour the country in the environs of the camp. 

“I obeyed him, notwithstanding the danger of the mis- 
sion, and went in search of our guide’s footsteps. After 
some time I was fortunate enough to find his traces ; when 
all at once I perceived in the distance a narty of Apaches 


THE STRANGER’S STORY. 


429 


engaged in a hunt of wild horses. I turned my horse’s head 
round as quickly as possible, but the ferocious yells which 
burst out on every side told me that I was discovered.” 

The stranger, in whom the reader has doubtless recognised 
Gayferos, the unfortunate man who had been scalped, paused 
an instant as though overcome by horrible recollections. 
Then in continuation, he related the manner in which he was 
captured by the Indians, his anguish when he thought of the 
torments they were preparing for him, the desperate strug- 
gle by which he kept up in his race against them with naked 
feet, and the inexpressible sufferings he endured. 

“ Seized by one of them,” said he, “ I was struck by a 
blow which felled me to the earth ; then I felt the keen edge 
of a knife trace, as it were, a circle of fire around my head. 
I heard a gun fired, a ball hissed close to my ears, and I 
lost all consciousness. I cannot tell how many minutes passed 
thus. The sound of a second shot caused me to open my 
eyes, but the blood which covered my face blinded me ; I 
raised my hand to my head, which felt both burning and fro- 
zen. My skull was bare, the Indian had torn off the hair 
with the scalp attached to it. In short, they had scalped 
me ! That is the reason, Senor, that I now wear this red 
handkerchief both by day and by night.” 

During his recital, a cold perspiration covered the narra- 
tor’s countenance. His two listeners shuddered with horror. 

After a momentary pause, he continued : 

“ I ought perhaps to spare you, as well as myself, otnef 
sad details.” 

Gayferos then related to his auditors the unexpected assis- 
tance he had obtained from the three hunters who had taken 
refuge upon the little island, and was describing the moment 
in which Bois-Rose carried him off in the presence of the 
Indians, when this heroic action drew from Don Augustin’s 
lips a cry of admiration. 


430 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“ Bat there were then a score on this little island ?” inter« 
rapted he. 

“ Beckoning the giant who carried me in his arms there 
were but three,” continued the narrator. 

“ Santa Virgen /” they were trusty men then — but con 
tinue.” 

The adventurer resumed : 

“ The companion of him who had carried me in his arms, 
was a man of about the same age — that is, near five-and-forty. 
There was, besides, a young man, of a pale but proud coun- 
tenance, a sparkling eye, and a sweet smile ; by my faith, a 
handsome young man, Senorita ; such a one as a father might 
with pride own as a son — such as a lady might be proud and 
happy to see at her feet. During a short interval of calm, 
which succeeded the horrible agonies I had suffered, I found 
time to question the preservers of my life concerning their 
names and occupation; but I could learn nothing from them 
except that they were hunters, and travelled for their own 
pleasure. That was not very probable, still I made no obser- 
vation.” 

Dona Rosarita could not quite suppress a sigh : perhaps 
she expected to be reminded of a familiar name. 

Gayferos continued the recital of various facts with which 
the reader is already acquainted. 

“ Alas, Senorita ,” he continued, “ the poor young man 
was himself captured by the Indians, and his punishment was 
to avenge the death of their companions.” 

At this part of the narrative, Dona Rosarita’s cheek became 
deadly pale. 

“Well, and the young man,” interrupted the haciendado, 
who was almost as much moved as the daughter, on hearing 
these sad events, “ what became of him ?” 

Rosarita, who had remained silent as the narrator proceeded, 
returned by a look of tender acknowledgment, the solicitude 


v 


THE STRANGER’S STORY. 


431 


Lor father testified for the young man, for whom, in spite of 
herself, she felt so deep an interest. 

“Three- days and three nights were consumed in fearful 
anguish, relieved only by a feeble ray of hope. At length, 
on the morning of the fourth day, we were able unawares to 
fall upon our sanguinary foes ; and after a desperate struggle, 
the warlike giant succeeded in reconquering the youth, who, 
safe and sound, he again pressed to his heart, calling him his 
beloved child.” 

“ Heaven be praised !” exclaimed the haciendado, with a 
sigh of relief. 

Rosarita remained silent, but her colour suddenly return- 
ing, testified to the pleasure she experienced: while a joyous 
smile lit up her countenance on hearing the last words of the 
narrator. 

“ Continue !” said the haciendado ; “ but in your recital, 
which is deeply interesting to a man who was himself during 
six months held captive by the Indians, I seek in vain for 
any details relative to poor Don Estevan’s death.” 

“ I am ignorant of them,” continued Gayferos, “ and I can 
only repeat the words spoken by the youngest of the three 
hunters, when I questioned him upon the subject.” 

“ He is dead,” said the young man to me, “ you yourself 
are the last survivor of a numerous expedition ; when you 
shall have returned to your own country — for,” added he, 
with a sigh, “ you have perhaps some one, who in grief num- 
bers the days of your absence — they will question you con- 
cerning the fate of your chief, and the men he commanded. 
You will reply to them, that the men died fighting — as to 
their chief, that he was condemned by the justice of God, and 
that the divine sentence pronounced against him, was exe- 
cuted in the desert. Don Estevan Arechiza will never again 
return to his friends. 

“ Poor Don Estevan !” exclaimed the haciendado. 


432 


THE WOOD-RANGEES. 


“ And you could never learn the names of these brave, 
generous, and devoted men ?” asked Dona Rosarita. 

“Not at the moment,” continued Gayferos; “only it 
appeared strange to me, that the youngest of the three 
hunters spoke to me of Don Estevan, Diaz, Oroche, and 
Baraja, as though he knew them perfectly.” 

A pang shot through Dona Rosarita’s heart, her bosom 
heaved, her cheeks were dyed with a deep crimson, then 
became pale again as the flowers of the datura , but she still 
remained silent. 

“ I draw towards the close of my recital,” continued Gay- 
feros. “ After having recovered the brave warrior’s son from 
the Apaches, we journeyed towards the plains of Texas. I 
shall not relate to you all the dangers we encountered during 
six months of our wandering life, as hunters of the otter and 
the beaver, nevertheless, it had its charms ; but there was 
one amongst us, who was far from finding this life agreeable. 
This was our young companion. 

“ When I saw him for the first time I was struck by the 
melancholy expression of his countenance, but afterwards, as 
v/e journeyed together, I noticed that this melancholy, instead 
of decreasing, seemed daily to augment. The old hunter, 
whom I believed to be his father (I know now that he is not), 
took every opportunity of calling his attention to the magni- 
ficence of the vast forest in which we lived, the imposing 
scenes of the desert, or the charm of the perils we encoun- 
tered. They were vain efforts, for nothing could banish the 
grief that consumed him. He seemed only to forget it in the 
midst of the dangers he eagerly sought. One might havo 
supposed that life to him was no more than a heavy burden 
which he desired to get rid of. 

“Full of compassion for him, I often said to the old hunter— 
‘ Solitude is only suited to an advanced age, youth delights in 
activity, and in the presence of its equals. Let us return to 


TOE STRANGER’S STORY. 


433 


3ur habitations.’ But the giant only sighed without im- 
plying. 

“ Soon afterwards the manner of the two hunters, who 
loved their young companion as a son, became also saddened. 

u One night while the young man and I were watching, I 
recalled a name which six months before he had uttered in 
his sleep. I then learned the secret of that grief which was 
slowly consuming him. He loved , and solitude had but 
increased a passion which he vainly sought to stifle.” 

Gayferos paused an instant to cast a searching glance upon 
the countenances of his auditors, especially upon that of Doiia 
Rosarita. He appeared to take a secret pleasure in exciting 
the young girl by the recital of all the circumstances best 
calculated to touch the heart of a woman. 

As a warrior and a hunter, the haciendado did not attempt 
to conceal the interest with which the stranger’s narrative 
was inspiring him. 

Rosarita, on the contrary, endeavoured, under a mask of 
studied coldness, to conceal the charm sh6 experienced on 
listening to this romance of heart and action, whose most 
stirring pages were so considerately opened to her by the 
intelligent narrator. 

But her heightened colour and the fire in her large dark 
eyes completely belied her efforts. 

“ Ah J” cried Don Augustin, “ if these three brave men 
had been under Don Estevan’s command, the fate of the 
expedition might have been far different.” 

“ I am of the same opinion,” replied Gayferos, “ but God 
had ordained it otherwise. Meanwhile,” he continued, “ I 
felt a great longing again to see my native land, but grati- 
tude required that I should conceal it. But the old warrior 
divined my thoughts, and one da} r addressed me on this sub- 
ject. 

“ Too generous to suffer me alone to brave the dangers of 

19 


404 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


my homeward journey, the giant hunter resolved to accom- 
pany me as far as Tubac. His companion did not oppose 
his resolution, and we set out for the frontier. The young 
man alone seemed to follow us reluctantly in this direction. 

“ I shall not describe our fatigues and the various difficul- 
ties we surmounted in the course of our long and perilous 
journey. I wish, however, to speak of one of our last 
encounters with the Indians. 

“ In order to reach the Presidio we were obliged to cross 
the chain of the Rocky Mountains. It was towards the 
approach of night that we found ourselves amongst their 
gloomy solitudes, and we were obliged to halt. 

“This is a spot much frequented by the Indians, and we 
could not encamp without the greatest precaution. 

“Nothing, as it seems to me, can better resemble the 
abode of condemned souls than these mountains, where we 
spent the night. At every moment strange sounds, which 
appeared to proceed from the cavities of the rocks, broke 
upon our ears. At one time it was a volcano, which rumbled 
with dull and heavy noise beneath us, or the distant roar of 
a cataract : sometimes resembling the howling of wolves or 
plaintive cries ; and from time to time dreadful flashes of 
lightning tore aside the veil of mist which eternally covers 
these mountains. 

“ For fear of a surprise we had encamped upon a rock 
which projected, in the form of a table, above a wide open 
valley about fifty feet below us. The two elder hunters were 
asleep ; the youngest' alone kept watch. It was his turn, and 
as usual he had been compelled to insist upon it — for his 
companions .seemed unwilling thus to allow him to share their 
toils. 

“As for myself, sick and suffering, I was stretched upon 
the ground. After many vain efforts to obtain a little rest, at 
length I slept, when a frightful dream awoke me with a start 


THE STRANGER’S STORY. 


435 


44 4 Did you hear nothing ?’ I asked of the young man, in 
r low voice. 4 Nothing,’ he replied, 4 except the rumbling of 
the subterranean volcanoes in the mountains.’ 4 Say, rather, 
that we are here in an accursed spot,’ I continued, and then 
I related my dream to him. 

44 4 It is, perhaps a warning,’ he said gravely. 4 1 remem 
ber one night to have had just such a dream, when — ’ 

44 The young man paused. He had advanced to the edge 
of the rock. I crawled after him mechanically. The same 
object arrested our attention at the same moment. 

u One of those spirits of darkness which might have in- 
habited such a spot, appeared suddenly to have acquired a 
visible form. It was a kind of phantom, with the head and 
skin of a wolf, but erect upon its legs like a human being. I 
made the sign of the cross, and murmured a prayer, but the 
phantom did not stir. 

44 4 It is the devil,’ I whispered. 

44 4 It is an Indian,’ replied the young man ; 4 there are his 
companions at some distance.’ 

44 In short, our eyes, well practised in making out objects 
in the dark, could distinguish about twenty Indians, stretched 
upon the ground, and who, in truth, had no idea of our 
vicinity. 

44 Ah, Senorita !” added the narrator, addressing himself to 
Dona Rosarita, 44 it was one of those opportunities fraught 
with danger, which the poor young man sought with so 
much avidity ; and your heart, like mine, would have been 
torn at beholding the sad joy which sparkled in his eyes ; for 
the further we travelled in this direction the more his melan- 
choly seemed to increase. 

44 4 Let us wake our friends,’ I suggested. 

44 4 No; let me go alone. These two men have done 
enough for me. It is now my turn to run a risk for them 
and, if I die, I shall forget — ’ 


436 


TT7E "WOOD-RANGERS. 


“As he spoke these words the young man quitted me, 
made a detour, and I lost sight of him — without, however, 
ceasing to behold the frightful apparition which continued 
immoveable in the same spot. 

“ All at once I saw another dusky shape, which rushed 
towards the phantom and seized it by the throat. The two 
forms grappled with one another. The struggle was short 
and noiseless, and one might have believed them two spirits. 
I prayed to God in behalf of the poor young man who thus 
exposed his life with so much indifference and intrepidity. 
A short time afterwards I saw him return ; the blood was 
flowing over his face from a large wound on his head. 

“ 4 Oh, Heavens !’ I cried ; 4 you are wounded.’ 

“ 4 It is nothing,’ he said ; 4 1 will now wake our com- 
panions.’ 

44 What do you think, Senorita ?” continued the narrator. 
“Was not my dream a warning from God? A party of 
Indians, whom we had put to flight on the other side of the 
mountains — had followed our track in order to revenge the 
blood of their companions, which had been spilt upon the 
banks of the Gila — at the place where we had rescued the 
young man. 

44 But the Indians had to contend with terrible adversaries. 
Their sentinel was the phantom who had been killed by the 
courageous hunter before he had time to utter a cry of 
alarm, and the rest, surprised in their sleep, were nearly all 
stabbed ; a few sought safety in flight. 

“The night had not passed before this new exploit was 
accomplished. 

“The tall hunter hastened to dress the wound of the 
young man, whom he loved as a son ; and the latter, over- 
come with fatigue, stretched himself upon the ground and 
slept. 

44 In the meantime his two friends watched by his side to 


THE STRANGER’S STORY. 


43 } 


guard his sleep, whilst I in sadness contemplated his altered 
countenance, his reduced figure, and the blood-stained ban- 
dage with w T hich his head was bound.’' 

“ Poor youth,” interrupted Dona Rosarita, gently ; “ still 
so young, and yet compelled to lead a life of incessant dan- 
ger. And his father, also, he must have trembled for the life 
of a beloved son ?” 

“ Beloved, as you say, Senorita,” continued the narrator. 

“During a period of six months I was a daily witness to 
the infinite tenderness of this father for his child. 

“ The young man slept tranquilly, and his lips softy mur- 
mured a name — that of a woman — the same which had lately 
been revealed to me in his slumber.” 

Rosarita’s dark eyes seemed to question the narrator, but 
her words expired upon her parted lips ; she dared not utter 
the name her heart was whispering in her ears. 

“ But I encroach upon your time,” continued Gayferos, 
without appearing to notice the young girl’s agitation. “ I 
draw towards the close of my narrative. 

“ The young man woke just as day began to dawn. ‘ Com- 
rade,’ said the giant to me, ‘ go down yonder and count the 
dead which these dogs have left behind them.’ 

“Eleven corpses stretched upon the ground,” continued 
Gayferos, “ and two captured horses, attested the victory ol 
these intrepid hunters.” 

“ Let all due honor be given to these formidable men,” 
cried Don Augustin, with enthusiasm, whilst his daughter, 
clapping her little hands together, exclaimed, with spark- 
ling eyes, and an enthusiasm which equalled that of her 
father — 

“ That is splendid ! that is sublime ! so young, and yet so 
brave.” 

Rosarita only lavished her praises upon the young un- 
known— though perhaps the acute perception which belongs 


438 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


to a woman, and which almost resembles a second sight, may 
have revealed to her his name. 

The narrator seemed to appreciate the praises bestowed 
upon his friends. 

“ But did you not learn their names ?” asked Dona Rosa- 
rita, timidly. 

“ The elder was called Bois-Rose, the second Pepe. As 
to the young man — ” 

Gayferos appeared vainly endeavouring to recall the name 
without remarking the anguish which was depicted in the 
young girl’s agitated frame, and visible in her anxious eyes. 

By the similarity of position between Tiburcio and the 
unknown, she could not doubt but that it was he ; and the 
poor child was collecting all her strength to listen to his 
name, and not to utter, on hearing it, a cry of happiness and 
love. 

“ As to the young man,” continued the narrator, “ he was 
called Fabian.” 

At this name, which was unknown to the young girl, and 
which at once destroyed her pleasant delusions, she pressed 
her hand upon her heart, her lips became white, and the 
colour which hope had revived in her cheek faded away. 
She could only repeat mechanically, 

“ Fabian !” 

At this moment the recital was interrupted by the entrance 
of a servant. The Chaplain begged the haciendado to come 
to him for an instant, upon some business he had to commu- 
nicate to him. 

Don Augustin quitted the apartment, saying that ho 
should speedily return. 

Gayferos and the young girl were now left alone ; the 
former observed her some moments in silence, and with a 
delight he could scarcely conceal, saw that Rosarita trembled 
beneath the folds of her silk scarf. By a secret feeling the 


THE STRANGER’S STORY. 


439 


poor child divined that Gayferos had not yet finished. A< 
length the latter said gently, 

“Fabian bore another name, Senorita; do you wish t<s 
hear it while we are alone and without witnesses ?” 

Rosarita turned pale. 

“Another name ? oh, speak it !” she cried, in a trembling 
voice. 

“ lie was long known as Tiburcio Arellanos.” 

A cry of joy escaped the young girl, who rose from her 
seat, and approaching the bearer of this good news, seized 
his hand. 

“Thanks! thanks!” she exclaimed, “if my heart has not 
already spoken them.” 

Then she tottered across the chamber, and knelt at the 
feet of a Madonna, which, framed in gold, hung against the 
wall. 

“Tiburcio Arellanos,” continued the narrator, “is now 
Fabian, and Fabian is the last descendant of the Counts of 
Mediana — a noble and powerful Spanish family.” 

The young girl continued on her knees in prayer without 
appearing to listen to Gayferos’ words. 

“ Immense possessions, a lofty name, titles, and honours. 
All these he will lay at the feet of the woman who shall 
accept his hand.” 

The young girl continued her fervent prayer without turn- 
ing her head. 

“ And, moreover,” resumed the narrator, “ the heart of 
Don Fabian de Mediana still retains a feeling which was 
dear to the heart of Tiburcio Arellanos.” 

Rosarita paused in her prayer. 

“ Tiburcio Arellanos will be here to-night.” 

This time the young girl no longer prayed. It was Tibur- 
cio and not Fabian, Count of Mediana. Tiburcio, poor, and 
unknown, for whom she had wept. At the sound of this 


<40 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


name, she listened. Honours, titles, wealth ! What were 
they to her ? Fabian lived, and loved her still, what more 
could she desire ? 

“ If you will come to the breach in the wall, where, full of 
despair, he parted from you, you will find him there this very 
evening. Do you remember the place ?” 

“ Oh ! my God !” she murmured, softly, “ do I not visit it 
every evening ?” 

And once more bending before the image of the Virgin, 
Rosarita resumed her interrupted prayer. 

The adventurer contemplated for some instants this enthu- 
siastic and beautiful creature, her scarf partly concealing her 
figure, her nude shoulders caressed by the long tresses of 
her dark hair, which fell in soft rings upon their surface ; 
then without interrupting her devotion, he rose from his seat 
and silently quitted the chamber. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

THE RETURN. 

When Don Augustin Pena returned, he found his daughter 
alone, and still kneeling ; he waited until her prayer was fin- 
ished. The news of Don Estevan’s death so entirely occu- 
pied the haciendado’s mind that he naturally attributed Dona 
Rosarita’s pious action to another motive than the ti^ie one. 
He believed that she was offering up to Heaven a fervent 
prayer for the repose of his spirit, whose mysterious end they 
had just been made acquainted with. 

“ Every day,” said he, “ during the following year, the 
Chaplain will, by my orders, say a mass for Don Estevan’a 


THE RETURN. 


44J 


soul, for this man spake of the justice of God, which wan 
accomplished in the desert. These words are serious, and 
the manner with which they were pronounced, leaves na 
doubt as to their veracity.” 

“ May God pardon him !” replied Rosarita, rising from her 
knees, “ and grant him the mercy he requires.” 

“ May God pardon him !” repeated Don Augustin, earn- 
estly, “ the noble Don Estevan was no ordinary man, or 
rather, that you may now know it, Rosarita, Don Antonio 
de Mediana, who, in his lifetime, was Knight of the Grand 
Cross, and Duke de Armada.” 

“ Mediana, did you say, my father ?” cried the young girl, 
“ what ! he must then be his son ?” 

“ Of whom do you speak ?” asked Don Augustin, in asto- 
nishment, “ Don Antonia was never married. What can you 
mean ?” 

“ N othing, my father, unless it be that your daughter is 
to-day very happy.” 

As she said these words, Dona Rosarita threw her arms 
round her father’s neck, and leaning her head upon his breast 
burst into a passion of tears ; but in these tears there was no 
bitterness, they flowed softly, like the dew which the Ame- 
rican jasmine sheds in the morning from its purple flowers. 

The haciendado, but little versed in the knowledge of the 
female heart, misconstrued the tears, which are sometimes 
a luxury to women ; and he could conceive nothing of the 
happiness which was drawing them from his daughter’s eyes. 

He questioned her anew, but she contented herself with 
answering, while her lips were parted by a smile, and her 
eyes were still moist. 

“ To-morrow I shall tell you all, my father.” 

The good haciendado did indeed require the explanation 
of this mystery, when he was left in ignorance of the chiel 
fact concerning it. 


19 * 


442 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


“We Lave another duty to fulfil;” continued he; “the 
last wish expressed by Don Antonio, on parting from me, 
was that you should be united to the Senator Tragaduros. 
It will be in compliance with the request of one who is now 
no more, that this marriage should no longer be delayed. 
Do you see any obstacle to it, Rosarita ?” 

The young girl started at these words, which reminded 
her of the fatal engagement she had sought to banish from 
memory. Her bosom swelled, and her tears flowed afresh. 

“Well,” said the haciendado, smiling, “this is another 
proof of happiness, is it not ?” 

“ Of happiness !” repeated Rosarita, bitterly. “ Oh ! no, 
no, my father!” 

Don Augustin was now more puzzled than ever ; for, as he 
himself alleged, his life had been spent more in studying the 
artifices of Indians, with whom he had long disputed his 
domain, than in diving into the hearts of women. 

“ Oh, my father !” cried Rosarita, “ this marriage would 
now prove a sentence of death to your poor child !” 

At this sudden declaration, which he had not expected, 
Don Augustin was quite stupefied, and it was with difficulty 
he subdued the anger to which it had given rise. 

“ What !” he cried, with some warmth, “ did you not your- 
self consent to this marriage only a month ago ? Did you 
not agree that it should be consummated when we knew 
that Don Estevan could not return ? He is dead ; what then 
do you wish ?” 

“ It is true, father ; I did fix that period, but — ” 

“ Well !” 

“ But I did not know that he still lived.” 

“ Don Antonio de Mediana?” 

“No; Don Fabian de Mediana,” replied Rosarita, in a low 
voice. 

“ Don Fabian ? who is this Fabian of whom you speak ?” 


THE RETURN. 


443 


44 He whom we called Tiburcio Arellanos.” 

Don Augustin remained mute with surprise : his daughter 
took advantage of his silence. 

44 When I consented to this marriage,” said she, 44 I be- 
lieved that Don Fabian was for ever lost to us. I did not 
know that he still loved me ; and yet — consider whether I 
do not love you, my father ; consider what a grievous sacri- 
fice I made in my affection for you — I knew well ” 

As she spoke these words — her eyes moist with tears, yet 
shining with their own sweet lustre — the poor girl ap- 
proached, and, by a sudden impulse, threw herself upon her 
father’s shoulder to hide her rising blushes. 

44 1 knew then that I loved him only,” she murmured. 

44 But of whom do you speak ?” 

44 Of Tiburcio Arellanos — of the Count Fabian de Mediana 
— they are one and the same person.” 

44 Of the Count Mediana ?” repeated Don Augustin. 

44 Yes,” cried Rosarita, passionately; 44 1 still love in him 
Tiburcio Arellanos, however noble, powerful, and rich may 
be at this hour Count Fabian de Mediana.” 

Noble, powerful, and rich, are words that sound well in 
the ear of an ambitious father, when applied to a young man 
whom he loves and esteems, but whom he believes to be 
poor. Tiburcio Arellanos would have met with a refusal 
from Don Augustin — softened, it is true, by affectionate 
words — but had not Fabian de Mediana a better chance of 
success ? 

44 Will you tell me how Tiburcio Arellanos can be Fabian 
de Mediana?” asked Don Augustin, with more curiosity than 
anger. 44 Who gave you this information ?” 

44 You were not present at the close of the stranger’s nar- 
rative,” replied Dona Rosarita, 44 or you would have heard 
that the young companion of the two brave hunters, whose 
dangers he nobly shared, was no other than Tiburcio Arel- 


444 


THE WOOD-KANGERS. 


lanos, now become the Count Fabian de Mediana. To this 
day I am ignorant of how, alone and wounded, he quitted 
the hacienda, and by what circumstances he found these 
unexpected protectors — or what relationship exists between 
Tiburcio and the Duke de Armada. But this man, who 
knows, will tell you.” 

“Let him be instantly sought,” said Don Augustin, quickly; 
and he called an attendant to whom he gave the order. 

Don Augustin awaited with the greatest impatience, the 
return of Gayferos ; but they sought him in vain. He had 
disappeared. We shall presently explain the motive of his 
departure. Almost at the same moment in which the haci- 
endado and his daughter were informed of it, another atten 
dant entered to announce that Tragaduros was dismounting 
in the court-yard of the hacienda. 

The coincidence of the Senator’s return with the approach- 
ing arrival of Fabian, was one of those events in which 
chance, oftener than might be supposed, sports with the 
events of real life. 

Rosarita, in order to secure an ally in her father, hastened 
to embrace him tenderly, and to testify her astonishment at 
a miracle, which had converted the adopted son of a gambu- 
sino into the heir of one of the most powerful families in 
Spain. After having launched this twofold dart against the 
Senator, the young girl vanished from the apartment, leaving 
her father alone. 

Tragaduros entered like a man who feels that the an- 
nouncement of his arrival is always welcome. His manner 
was that of a future kinsman, for he had obtained the father’s 
promise and the daughter’s consent, although that consent 
was only tacitly given. However, notwithstanding his self- 
satisfaction, and his confidence in the future, the Senator 
could not fail to remark the grave reserve of Don Augustin’i 
manner. He thought himself at liberty to remark it. 


THE RETURN. 


443 


“ Don Estevan de Arechiza, the Duke of Armada, is no 
more,” said the haciendado ; “ both you and I have lost a 
dear and noble friend.” 

“ What, dead ?” cried the Senator, hiding his face with an 
embroidered cambric handkerchief. “ Poor Don Estevan I 
I do not think I shall ever be able to console myself.” 

His future, nevertheless, might not have been obscured by 
perpetual grief, for the regret he expressed was far from 
being in harmony with his most secret thoughts. While he 
acknowledged the many obligations he owed to Don Estevan, 
he could not help remembering that had he lived, he would 
have been compelled to spend in political intrigues the half 
of his wife’s marriage portion ; half a million of money he 
must thus have thrown to the dogs. It is true, he said to 
himself, I shall neither be a count, marquis, or duke of any 
kind, but to my thinking, half a million of money is worth 
more than a title, and will multiply my pleasures considera- 
bly. This fatal event will besides hasten the period of my 
marriage. Perhaps after all Don Estevan’s death is not a 
misfortune. “Poor Don Estevan,” he continued aloud, 
“ what an unexpected blow !” 

Tragaduros had yet to learn that it might have been 
better for him had Don Estevan lived. We will leave him 
with the haciendado, and follow Gayferos — for perhaps the 
reader will be glad to hear from him again. 

The adventurer had saddled his horse, and unseen by any- 
body had crossed the plain and again taken the road which 
ed to the Presidio of Tubac. 

The route which he followed for some time brought him 
in contact with few travellers, and when by chance some 
horseman appeared in the distance, Gayferos, as he passed 
him, exchanged an impatient salutation, but failed to recog- 
nize the one he sought. 

The day was drawing towards a close, and it was at a lat« 


446 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


hour when Gayferos uttered a joyful exclamation on seeing 
three travellers advancing at a gallop. 

These travellers were no others than the Canadian, Pepe, 
and Fabian de Mediana. The giant was mounted upon a 
strong mule, larger and more vigorous than the Mexican 
horses. Nevertheless this animal was somewhat out of pro- 
portion with the gigantic stature of the rider. 

Fabian and Pepe rode two excellent coursers, which they 
had taken from the Indians. 

The young man was greatly changed since the day when 
he arrived for the first time at the Hacienda del Yenado. 

Painful and indelible recollections had left their traces 
upon his pale and wasted cheeks, a few wrinkles furrowed 
his brow, though the brilliancy of his eye was heightened by 
the sorrowful reflection of the passion which consumed him. 
But perhaps in the eyes of a woman his pale and sickly ap- 
pearance might render the young Count of Mediana still more 
handsome and interesting than was that of Tiburcio Arellanos. 

Would not that countenance, ennobled by toil and travel, 
remind Dona Rosarita of the love for which she had every 
reason to feel proud and happy. Would it not tell of dan- 
gers overcome, and surround itself with a double halo of 
sacrifice and suffering ? 

As to the rough countenances of the hunters, sun, fatigue, 
and danger of every kind. had left them unchanged. If the 
hot winds had bronzed their skin, six months more of the 
adventurous life to which they were accustomed left no 
trace upon their sunburnt features. 

They testified no surprise on seeing the gambusino, but a 
lively curiosity was depicted in the glance of each. A look 
from Gayferos, however, soon satisfied them. That look 
doubtless assured them that all was as they wished. Fabian 
alone expressed some astonishment on seeing his old com- 
panion so near the Hacienda del Yenado. 


THE RETURN. 


44 f 


“Was it in order to precede us here that you came to taka 
leave of us near Tubac ?” asked Fabian. 

“ Doubtless — did I not tell you so ?” replied Gayferos. 

“ I did not understand you thus,” said Fabian, who, with- 
out seeming to attach much importance to that which was 
said or done around him, relapsed into the melancholy silence 
which had become habitual to him. 

Gayferos turned his horse’s head round, and the four tra 
Tellers continued their journey in silence. 

At the expiration of an hour, during which Gayferos and 
the Canadian only exchanged a few words in a low tone, and 
to which Fabian, always absorbed in thought, gave no atten- 
tion, the recollections of a past, not very remote, crowded 
upon the memory of the three travellers. They were again 
crossing the plain which extends beyond El Salto de Agua, 
and a few minutes afterwards they reached the torrent itself, 
which foams down perpetually between the rocks. A bridge, 
the same size as the former one, replaced that which had been 
precipitated into the gulf below by those men who now slept 
their last sleep in the valley of gold, the object of their am- 
bition. 

The Canadian here dismounted. 

“Now, Fabian,” said he, “here Don Estevan was found; 
the three bandits (I except, however, poor Diaz, the terror 
of the Indians), were there. See, here are still the prints oi 
your horse’s hoofs — when he slipped from this rock, dragging 
you downwards in his fall. Ah! Fabian, my child, I can 
even now see the water foaming around you — even now' hear 
the cry of anguish I uttered. What an impetuous young 
man you then were !” 

“ That I no longer am,” said Fabian, smiling sadly. 

“ Oh, no ! at the present time your manner is imbued with 
the firm stoicism of an Indian warrior who smiles at the tor- 
tures of the stake. In the midst of these scenes your face 


448 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


is calm, yet I am convinced the recollections they recaii 
to you must be harrowing in the extreme; is it not so, 
Fabian?” 

“You are mistaken, my father,” replied Fabian; “my 
heart resembles this rock, where, though you say so, I no 
longer trace my horse’s hoofs ; and my memory is mute as 
the echo of your own voice, which you seem still to hear. 
When, before suffering me to return and live forever re- 
moved from the inhabitants of yonder deserts, you required 
as a last trial that I should again behold a spot which might 
recall old recollections, I told you those recollections no lon- 
ger existed.” 

A tear dimmed the Canadian’s eye, but he concealed it by 
turning his back to Fabian as he remounted his mule. 

The travellers then crossed the bridge formed of the trunks 
of trees. 

“ Do you trace upon this moss which covers the ground the 
print of my horse’s hoofs when I pursued Don Estevan and 
his troop?” asked Fabian of Bois-Rose. “No! the dead 
leaves of the past winter have obliterated them — the grass 
which sprung up after the rainy season has grown over 
them.” 

“ Ah ! if I raised the leaves, if I tore up the grass, I should 
again discover their traces, Fabian ; and if I searched the 
depth of your heart ” 

“You would find nothing, I tell you,” interrupted Fabian, 
with some impatience; “but I am mistaken,” he added, 
gently, “ you would find a reminiscence of childhood, one ol 
those in which you are associated, my father.” 

“ I believe it, Fabian, I believe it — you who have been the 
delight of my whole life ; but I have told you that I will not 
accept your sacrifice until to-morrow at this hour, when you 
shall have seen all, even the breach in the old wall, over which 
you once sprung, wounded in body and spirit.” 




























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“Come nearer, Tiburcio,” she said; “see ! here is my hand.” 

Fabian rushed forward to her feet. He seized the hand she offered convulsively , but he 
tried in vain to speak. — Page 453. 


THE RETURN. 


449 


A shudder, like that of the condemned on seeing the last 
terrible instrument of torture, passed through Fabian’s frame. 

The travellers halted at length, in that part of the forest 
situated between the Salto de Agua and the hacienda, 
in the open space where Fabian had found in the Canadian 
and his comrade, friends whom God seemed to have sent to 
him from the extreme ends of the earth. 

Now the shades of night no longer obscured the silent 
depths of the American forest — a silence in which there is 
something awful when the sun in its zenith sends forth burn 
ing rays like blades of crimson fire, when the flower of the 
lliana closes its chalice, when the stems of the grass drop 
languidly downwards as though in search of nourishment, 
and the whole face of nature, silent and inanimate, appears 
buried in sleep. The distant roar of the cataract was the 
only sound which at this hour broke the stillness of the 
forest. 

The travellers unsaddled, and having removed their 
horses’ bridles, fastened them at some distance off. As they 
had travelled all night to escape the heat of the sun, they de- 
termined to take their siesta under the shade of the trees. 

Gayferos was the first who fell asleep. His affection for 
Fabian was not disturbed by any fears for the future. Pepe 
was not long in following his example. The Canadian only 
and Fabian did not close their eyes. 

“You are not sleeping, Fabian,” said Bois-Rose, in a low 
voice. 

« IS T o, nor you. Why do you not take some rest, like our 
companions ?” 

“ One cannot sleep, Fabian, in a spot consecrated by so 
many sacred memories,” replied the old hunter. “This 
place is rendered holy to me. Was it not here that, by the 
intervention of a miracle, I again found you in the heart ol 
this forest, after having lost you upon the wide ocean ? I 


450 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


Bhould be ungrateful to the Almighty if J could forget this— 
even to obtain the rest which he has appointed lor us.” 

“ I think as you do, my father, and listen to your words,” 
replied the young count. 

“ Thanks, Fabian ; thanks also to that God who ordained 
that I should find you with a heart so noble and so loving. 
See ! here are still the remains of the fire near which I sat ; 
here are the brands, still black, though they have been 
washed by the rain of an entire season. Here is the tree 
against which I leant on the happiest evening of my life, 
since it restored you to me ; for now that I can again call 
you my son, each day of my existence has been fraught with 
happiness, until I learnt what I should have understood, that 
my affection for you was not that to which the young heart 
aspires.” 

“ Why so frequently allude to this subject, my father ?” 
said Fabian, with that gentle submission which is more cut- 
ting than the bitterest reproach. 

“ As you will. Let us not again allude to that which may 
pain you ; we shall speak of it after the trial to which I have 
submitted you.” 

The father and son — for we may indeed call them so — 
now maintained a long silence, listening only to the voices of 
nature. The sun approached the horizon, a light breeze 
sprung up and rustled among the leaves ; already hopping 
from branch to branch, the birds resumed their song, the' 
insects swarmed in the grass, and the lowing of cattle was 
heard in the distance. It was the denizens of the forest who 
welcomed the return of evening. 

The two sleepers awoke. 

After a short and substantial repast, of which Gayferos had 
brought the materials from the Hacienda del Yenado, the 
four travellers awaited in calm meditation the hour of their 
great trial. 

Some time passed away before the azure sky above th<e 
open clearing was overcast. 

Gradually, however, the light of day diminished on the 
approach of twilight, and then myriads of stars shone in the 
firmament, like sparks sown by the sun as he quitted the 
horizon. At length, as on that evening to which so many 
recollections belonged, when Fabian, wounded, reached the 
wood-rangers by their fire, the moon illumined the summits 
of the trees and the glades of the forest. 


THE RETURN. 


451 


“ Shall we light a fire ?” inquired Pepe. 

“ Certainly ; for it may chance that we shall spend the 
night here,” replied Bois-Rose. “ Is not this your desire, 
Fabian ?” 

“ It matters little to me,” replied the young man ; “ here 
or yonder, are we not always agreed ?” 

Fabian, as we have said, had long felt that the Canadian 
could not live, even with him, in the heart of towns, without 
yearning for the liberty and free air of the desert. He knew 
also that to live without him would be still more impossible 
for his comrade ; and he had generously offered himself as a 
sacrifice to the affection of the old hunter. 

Bois-Rose was aware of the full extent of the sacrifice, and 
the tear he had that morning shed by stealth, was one of 
gratitude. We shall by-and-by enter more fully into the 
Canadian’s feelings. 

The position of the stars indicated eleven o’clock. 

“ Go, my son,” said Bois-Rose to Fabian. “ When you 
nave reached the sp."»t where you parted from the woman 
who perhaps loved you, put your hand upon your heart. If 
you do not feel its pulses beat quicker, return, for you will 
then have overcome the past.” 

“I shall return, then,” replied Fabian, in a tone of melan- 
choly firmness: “memory is to me like the breath of the 
wind which passes by without resting, and leaves no trace.” 

He departed slowly. A fresh breeze tempered the hot 
exhalations which rose from the earth. A resplendent moon 
shone upon the landscape at the moment when Fabian, 
having quitted the shadow of the forest, reached the open 
space intervening between it and the wall inclosing the haci- 
enda. 

Until that moment he proceeded with a slow but firm step, 
but when, through the silver vapours of the night, he per- 
ceived the white wall with the breach in the centre partly 
visible, his pace slackened, and his knees trembled under him. 

Did he dread his approaching defeat? for his conscience 
told him already that he would be vanquished — or was it 
rather those recollections which, now so painfully I’eealled, 
rose up before him like the floods of the sea ? 

There was a deep silence, and the night, but for a slight 
vapour, was clear. All at once Fabian halted and stood still 
like the dismayed traveller, who sees a phantom rise up in his 
path. A white and airy form appeared distinctly visible 


452 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


above the breach m the old wall. It resembled one of the 
fairies in the old legends of the north, which to the eye of the 
Scandinavian idolaters floated amidst vapours and mists. To 
the eye of Fabian it bore the angel form of his first and only 
love ! 

For one instant this lovely apparition appeared to Fabian 
to melt away ; but his eyes deceived him, for in spite of him- 
self they were obscured. The vision remained stationary. 
When he had strength to move, he advanced nearer, and still 
the vision did not disappear. 

The young man’s heart felt as if it would burst, for at this 
moment a horrible idea crossed his mind. He believed that 
what he saw was Rosarita’s spirit, and he would rather a 
thousand times have known her living, though pitiless and 
disdainful, than behold her dead, though she appeared in the 
form of a gentle and benignant apparition. 

A voice, whose sweet accents fell upon his ear like hea- 
venly music, failed to dispel the illusion, though the voice 
spoke in human accents. 

“ Is it you, Tiburcio ? I expected you.” 

Even the penetration of a spirit from the other world could 
not have divined that he would return from such a distance. 

“ Is it you, Rosarita ?” cried Fabian, in a scarcely percep- 
tible voice, “ or a delusive vision which will quickly disap- 
pear ?” 

And Fabian stood motionless, fixed to the spot, so greatly 
did he fear that the beloved image would vanish from his 
sight. 

“ It is I,” said the voice ; “lam indeed here.” 

“ O God ! the trial will be more terrible than I dared to 
think,” said Fabian, inwardly. 

And he advanced a step forward, then paused ; the poor 
young man did not entertain a hope. 

“ By what miracle of heaven do I find you here ?” he 
cried. 

“ I come every evening, Tiburcio,” replied the young girl. 

This time Fabian began to tremble more with love than 
hope. 

We have seen that Rosarita, in her last interview with 
Fabian, chose rather to run the risk of death than confess 
that she loved him. Since then she had suffered so much, 
she had shed so many tears, that now love was stronger than 
virgin purity. 


THE RETURN. 


453 


A young girl may sometimes, by such courage, sanctify 
and enhance her modesty. 

“ Come nearer, Tiburcio,” she said ; “ see ! here is my 
hand.” 

Fabian rushed forward to her feet. He seized the hand 
she offered convulsively, but he tried in vain to speak. 

The young girl looked down with anxious tenderness upon 
his face. 

“Let me see if you are much changed, Tiburcio,” she 
continued. “ Ah ! yes. Grief has left its traces on your 
brow, but honour has ennobled it. You are as brave as you 
are handsome, Tiburcio. I learned with pride that danger 
had never made your cheek turn pale.” 

“You heard, did you say?” cried Fabian; “but what 
have you heard ?” 

“ All, Tiburcio ; even to your most secret thoughts. I 
have heard all, even of your coming here this evening. Do 
you understand ? and I am here !” 

“ Before I dare to comprehend, Rosarita, — for this time a 
mistake would kill me,” continued Fabian, whose heart was 
stirred to its very depths by the young girl’s words, and the 
tenderness of her manner, “ will you answer one question, 
that is if I dare to ask it ?” 

“ Dare, then, Tiburcio,” said Rosarita, tenderly. “ Ask 
what you wish. I came to-night to hear you — to deny you 
nothing.” 

“ Listen,” said the young Count : “ six months ago I had 
to avenge my mother’s death, and that of the man who had 
stood in my father’s place, Marcos Arellanos ; for if you 
know all, you know that I am no longer 

“ To me you are the same, Tiburcio ; I never knew Don 
Fabian de Mediana.” 

“The wretch who was about to expiate his crime — the 
assassin of Marcos Arellanos, in short, Cuchillo — begged for 
his life. I had no power to grant it ; when he cried, 4 1 ask 
it in the name of Doha Rosarita, who loves you, for I heard 

the suppliant was upon the edge of a precipice. I 

would have pardoned him for love of you ; when one of* my 
companions precipitated him into the gulf below. A hun- 
dred times, in the silence of the night, I recalled that suppli 
ant voice, and asked myself in anguish, What did he tlieD 
hear? I ask it of you this evening, Rosarita.” 

u Once, once only, did my lips betray the secret of my 


454 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


heart. It was here, in this very spot, when you had quitted 
our dwelling. I will repeat to you what I then said.” 

The girl seemed to be collecting all her strength, before 
she dared tell the young man that she loved him, and that 
openly and passionately ; then — her pure countenance shining 
with virgin innocence, which fears not, because it knows no 
ill, she turned towards Tiburcio. 

“ I have suffered too much,” she said, “ from one mistake, 
to allow of any other ; it is thus, then, with my hands in 
yours, and my eyes meeting yours, that I repeat to you what 
I then said. You had fled from me, Tiburcio. I knew you 
were far away, and I thought God alone heard me when I 
cried : 4 Cows back , Tiburcio , come back ! I love only 
you /’ ” 

Fabian, trembling with love and happiness, knelt humbly 
at the feet of this pure young girl, as he might have 
done before a Madonna, who had descended from her 
pedestal. 

At this moment he was lost to all the world, — Bois-Rose, 
the past, the future — all were forgotten like a dream on 
awaking, and he cried in a broken voice : 

“ Rosarita ! I am yours for ever ! I dedicate my future life 
to you only.” 

Rosarita uttered a faint cry. Fabian turned, and remained 
mute with astonishment. 

Leaning quietly upon his long carbine, stood Bois-Rose, a 
few paces from them, contemplating, with a look of deep 
tenderness the two lovers. 

It was the realization of his dream in the isle of Rio Gila. 

“ Oh, my father !” cried Fabian sadly ; “ do you forgive 
me for suffering myself to be vanquished ?” 

“ Who would not have been, in your place, my beloved 
Fabian?” said the Canadian, smiling. 

“ I have broken my oath, my father !” continued Fabian ; 
“ I had promised never to love any other but you. Pardon ! 
pardon !” 

“ Child, who implores pardon, when it is I who should 
ask it ?” said Bois-Rose ; “ you were more generous than I, 
Fabian. Never did a lioness snatch her cub from the hands 
of the hunters, and carry it to her den, with a more savage 
love than I dragged you from the habitations of men to hide 
you in the desert. I was happy, because all my affections 
were centered in you ; and I believed that you might also be 


THE RETURN. 


455 


bo. You did not murmur ; you sacrificed, unhesitatingly, all 
the treasures of your youth — a thousand times more precious 
than those of the Golden Valley. I did not intend it should 
be so, and it is I who have been selfish, and not generous, 
for if you had died of grief, I should have died also.” 

44 What do you mean ?” cried Fabian. 

“ What I say, child. Who watched over your slumbers 
during long nights, to hear from your lips the secret wishes 
of your heart? It was I, who determined to accompany to 
this spot, Gayferos, whom at your intercession I saved from 
the hands of the Apaches. Who sent him to seek this beauti- 
ful and gracious lady, and learn if in her heart, she still 
treasured your memory ? It was I still, my child, for your 
happiness is a thousand times more precious than mine. 
Who persuaded you to make this last trial ? It was still I, 
my child, who knew that you must succumb to it. To-mor- 
row I had said to you, I will accept your sacrifice ; but Gay- 
feros had even then read the most secret pages of this lady’s 
heart. Why do you ask my pardon, when I tell you it is I, 
who should ask yours ?” 

The Canadian, as he finished these words, opened his arms 
to Fabian, who eagerly rushed into his embrace. 

44 Oh, my father,” cried he, 44 so much happiness frightens 
me, for never was man happier than I.” 

44 Grief will come when Gcd wills it,” said the Canadian, 
solemnly. 

44 But you, what will become of you?” asked Fabian, anx- 
iously. 44 Your loss will be to me the only bitterness in my 
full cup of joy.” 

44 As God wills, my child,” answered the Canadian. 44 It 
is true, I cannot live in cities, but this dwelling, which will be 
yours, is on the borders of the desert. Does not infinity sur- 
round me here ? I shall build with Pepe — Ho, Pepe,” 
said the hunter in a loud voice, 44 come and ratify my pro- 
mise.” 

Pepe and Gayferos come forward at the hunter’s summons. 

44 1 and Pepe,” he continued, 44 will build a hut of the 
trunks and bark of trees upon the spot of ground where I 
found you again. We shall not always be at home, it is true ; 
but perhaps some time hence should you wish to claim the 
name and fortune of your ancestors in Spain, you will find 
two friends ready to follow you to the end of the world. 
Come, my Fabian, I have no doubt that I shall be even hap* 


156 


THE WOOD-RANGERS. 


pier than you, for I shall experience a double bliss in my hap- 
piness and yours.” 

But why dwell longer upon such scenes ? happiness is so 
transitory and impalpable that it will not bear either analysis 
or description. 

“ There remains but one obstacle now,” resumed the hun- 
ter. “ This sweet lady’s father.” 

“To-morrow he will expect his son,” interupted Rosa- 
rita, who stood by, listening with singular interest to the dia- 
logue. 

“ Then let me bless mine,” said the Canadian. 

Fabian knelt before the hunter. 

The latter removed his fur cap, and with moist eyes raised 
to the starry heavens, he said — 

“ Oh ! my God ! bless my son, and grant that his children 
may love him as he has been loved by his old Bois-Rose.” 

* * * * * * * 

The following day the illustrious Senator returned in sad- 
ness to Arispe. 

“ I was sure,” he said, “ that I should unceasingly mourn 
for poor Don Estevan. I might at least have possessed, 
besides my wife’s marriage portion, a title of honour and 
half a million of money. It is certainly a great misfortune 
that poo-r Don Estevan is dead.” 

Some time afterwards a hut made of the bark and trunks 
of trees was built in the forest glade so well known to the 
reader. Often Fabian de Mediana, accompanied by Rosarita, 
to whom he was now united by the holy ties of marriage, 
performed a pilgrimage to the dwellers in the hut. 

Perhaps at a later period one of those pilgrimages might 
be undertaken with the view of claiming the assistance 
of the two brave hunters in an expedition to the Golden V al- 
ley or to the coast of Spain ; but that is a thing of the 
future. Let us for the present be content with saying, that 
if the happiness of this world is not a vain delusion, in truth 
it exists at the Hacienda del Yenado, enjoyed by Fabian, 
Rosarita, and the brave Wood-Hangers — Pepe and Boia* 
Rose. 


THE ENS\ 



















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